PR 1175 
.S756 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




DDQDSDt.nbT 
















^^ o""'* ^-ft '^'^ ^'" ^' 












o^ "o . i * A 



;* ^' "^^ '^^m^,* ^^ 



♦ «7 



;* .5-* 












^* Z^fSSS^^'. •^^. c , 




* *^ 



c» '^^ 






^4' 



^' /aVa:- ' t^ A^ ' - 



•^^^^'^ ' 



0^^ 




• ^v 














(||©ILILIg(@^^PIM>^0 



OR 



SELECT POEMS. 



\ 



COLLECTANEA 



Moral, § Plait;tive, 
Humorous, § Satirical, 
Melodious, § Sentimental 

♦ AWD 

Miscellaneous. v 

FRO.AI VARIOXJ* CELEBRATED AND APPROVED 

AUTHORS. 



Stealing and giving siceets. — Shakespeabe. 



As the small mountain bees collect, 
With daily toil the grateful thyme — 

Thus I more weighty truths select, 
Or crop the flow'ry sweets of rhyme. — Dter. 

*'*'*'».o.":':">:;Ovvw 
SELECTED AND COMPILED 

BY SAMUEL C. STEVENS. 



HAVERHILL, N. H. 

PRINTED FOR THE C03IPILER 

BY S. T. GOSS. 

1823. 



^%^'^^ 

r-,1^^ 



PREFACB. 



Deem not this impertinence or foliy. i 
conue not ^s an author, making sounding pre- 
tensions, and Ihereby sohciting a liberal pat- 
T^onage from a "candid and generous public,"but 
merely a compiler; and as such, beg the char- 
ity and candour of all in judging of its merit;?. 

To the admirer? of Poesy and Song, it is 
hoped the following selection of Fugitive 
Poems will be a feast of entertainment ; es- 
pecially as it embraces extracts upon different 
subjects. Whatever be the subject of favor- 
iteism ; whatever be the theme upon whicli 
they delight to dwell, it is hoped they vviil te 
gratified. 

It has been my constant endeavor, my unre- 
mitted attention, to render the work pleasing 
and acceptable to all. There may, still how. 
ever, be some objection to the choice of the 
collection ; in this 1 may erred, ns •'• to err is 
human ; but " to forgive., diviuc.'' 



^D JER TISEMEJV T. 



Some apolog"y may be due to those who 
have subscribed for this little velume, for its 
appearance at this hite day; the proposals for 
publishing the same having beru issued up- 
wards of a year. 

It was calculated at the time the proposals 
were issued, that the work would be ready for 
subscribers by the fall of 1822 ; but the con- 
tractor for printing was not aware of the mul- 
tiplicity of work he had to perform, which, to- 
gether with the management of a weekly pa- 
per, prevented the work from going to press 
until the present time. This, with the fact 
that a sufficient number of subecribers were 
not obtained to warrant the expence, may be 
assigned as a sufficient reason tor its not ap- 
pearing before. By this delay, however, some 
essential alterations have been made in the 
work, and some admirable pieces selected, 
which would not have appeared, had it been 
puhhslied last year ; among which are the 
Indian Philosopher, and others, from Watts' 
Lyric Poems. 

I rely on the merits of the work alone, for 
'he approbation of the public* S. C, S. 

Corinth. Vt. June 1, 1823. 



OR 

SELECT POEMS 



JiDDRESS TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 
By R. Burns, 
The snbject of the following poem, was Marj Campbell, 
to wbom the author, a Scottish Bard, was betrothed. 
Thej had met on the banks of the Ayr, in May, in a 
sequestered spot, where they spent the day in taking a 
farewell, before she shonld embark for the West High- 
fends to arrange matters among her friends for the pro- 
jected union. At the close of Autnmn following, she 
crossed the sea at Greenock to meet him,where she had 
scarce landed, when she was seized with a malignant 
fever, which carried her to her grave, even before he 
could hear of her illnesj. On the anniversary of her 
dealb, he retired from hi? family and wandered solita- 
ry on the banks of the Nith, where his agitation was 
50 great, he threw himself on the side of a corn-stack, 
and there conceived his sublime and tender elegy, 
which follows. — Compiler. 

Tbotj lingering s(ar with lessening ray, 
Thijt lov'st to meet the early morn I 

Again thou usher'st |n the day. 
My Mary from my soul was torn ! 
A 4 



ADDHESS TO MARY. 

O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? — 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget. 

Can I forget the haliow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love I 

Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past j 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah I little thought we 'twas our last * 

Ayr purling kissM bis pebbled shore, 
O'er hung with wild woods, thick'ning green 

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
Tw.in'd am'fous round the rapturM scene. 

The fiow'rs sprang wanton to be presf, 
The birds sang love on every spray, 

'Till too, too soon the glowing west 
ProclaimM the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wake<' 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 

Time but th' impression stronger makes. 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 

My Mary, dear, departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of bl^sful rest ? 
See'st thon thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast f 



STA^ZAS TO JESSY. 9 

STJIKZAS to JESSY.—^x Lofd Byron. 

rbe foliowinsf exquisite Sfanzas were addressed by 
Lord Byrou to his Lady, a i'ew months before their 
reparation. 

Therk is a mystic thread of life 

So dearly wreatli'd witfi mine alone, 

That Destiny's relen(!e?s knife 
At ouce must sever both or none. 

There is a form, on which these eyes 
Have often gazM with fond delight •, 

By dav %hat form their joy ?upplies, 

And dreaois restore it through the night. 

There is a voice, whose tpnes inspire 

Such thrill? of rapture in my breast, 
I would not hear a Seraph choir. 

Unless that voice could join the rest ! 

'ihere is a face, whoi^e blushes tell 

Aflection''!5 tale upon <he cheek ^ 
But pallid at one fond fareneil, 

Proclaiiiis more love than words can speak. 

There is a lip, which mine hafh preft, 

And none had ever presf bc-jfore ; 
It vow'd to make it sweetly blest, 

And mine — niiue only, prest it more I 

There is a bosom — all ray own — 

Hath pillow'^d oft this aching^ head ; 
A mouth— which smiles on me alone ; 

An eye — whose tears with mine are shed. 



There are two hefirts, who'-e movements thrill 

Iti unison so cloiely swet t, 
Thnt pnl?e to pulse, resfjonsive stilJ, 

They both must htta^ve, or cease to beat. 

A » 



l>IK<iE OF A HIGHLAND CHIKI? 

There are two souls, whose equal flow 
In gentit: streams so calmly run, 

I'bat whcH they part — They part I — Ah no 
They canaot part — their souls are one ! 



DIRGE OF A HIGHLAfi^D CHIEF. 

Executed after the Rebellion. — By Walter Scott. 
Son of the mighty ani thefree ! 
Lov'd leader of the faithfal brave ! 
Was it for high-rank''d chief like thee, 

To fill a nameless grave I 
Oh I had'st <hoo slncnberM with the slain, 
Had glory's death-bed been thy lot, 
E^en though on red Culloden^': plain. 
We then had inournM thee not I 

But darkly clos''d thy morn of fame, 
That morn whose sunbeam rose so (air, 
Kevenge alone may breathe thy name, 

The watchword of dtspair ! 
Yet oh I if gallant spirits power 
Has e'er ennobPd death like thine. 
Then glory aiark'd tiiy parting hour, 

Lastof a mighty line ! 

O'er thy own bowers the stnisliine falls. 
But cannot cheer their lonely gloom. 
Those beams, that gild thy native wall--. 

Are sU^eping on thy tomb. 
Spring on thy mountains laughs the while, 
The green woods wave in vernal air, 
But the lov'd scenes may vainly sujile, 

Not e*en thy dust is there I 

On thy blue hille do bugle sound 
IS oiingiing with the torients roar ; 



WOMAN. 11 

Unraark'd the red deer sport around, 

Thou lead'st the chase no more. 
Thy gates are clos'd, thy halls are still, 
Those halls where swelPd the choral strain, 
They hear the wild winds murmuring shrill, 

And all is hush'd again. 

Thy bard his pealing harp has broke, 
Bis fire, his joy of song is past ; 
One lay to mourn thy fate he woke 

His saddest and his last ; 
]Vo other theme to him was dear. 
Than hfty deeds of thine ; 
Hush'd be the strain thou can'st not bear, 

Last of a mighty line I 



WO.M^jY.—By Q. im the corwek. 
Oh woman I by nature ordained to bestow 
Ev'ry joy that enlivens us pilgrims below ; 
Through life ever hovering near to assuage 
The ills that assail us from boyhood to age ; 
In every affliction man's surest relief, 
In sickness his nurse, and hts solace in grief ; 
When his spirit is clouded by error and shame. 
Her tenderness still may the truant reclaim : 
And he whom no threats and no terrors could move, 
Will bow to (he milder dominion of Love. 

In the realms of (he gay we behold her advance, 
All ligh(nebs and loveliness joining the dance; 
But the revellers gone, in seclusion she moves, 
^Icgardless of all save the one that she loves. 

enchantress ! adoru'd with attractions like these, 
in unind and in person created to please ; 
Oh I why will you sully the charms you possess, 
Instructing mankind how to worship yon less ? 



12 A fORTRAIT.. 

Thus perfect by nature, can fa?>hIon impart 
One additional charm with Ihe diiger of art r 
No, — fruitless the sear«h for fresh beauties must be, 
While all that is beautiful centres in thee. 



A PORTRAIT.— Br Mrs. Rolls. 
There is a calmness on that brf^w. 

Though traced bj lines of earthly care ; 
No anxious thought disturbs it now. 

For all seems fix^d and settPd there. 

There is a languor in that eye. 

The struggle of the soul seems pass'd ; 

No gathering tear is rising nigh. 

There all seems still and sunk at last. 

No swelling sigh that bosom heaves, 

It rises slowly like the wave, 
Which sadly tranquil ocean heaves, 

To wash the shipwreck'd seamen^« grave^. 

Yet scorn him not, ye selCsh train ! 

That murmur o'er each little woe ; 
Who ne'er a lonely f>ang sustain, 

Or bid one tear unnotic'd &qw I 

Yet never knew the noble pri^e, 

The unborn dignity of mind, 
That can its keenest feelings hidfi, 

When every earthly hopes' resign^ ! 

For on that high, that open brow. 
Once beam'd the energies of mind ; 

And that sunk eye, so languid now, 
Has glow'd with tenderness refin'd. 

But oh I that sadly swelling heart 
Conceals « wouixd that uust remain ; 



DESCRIPTION OF THE TEMPLE Ot LOVE. IS 

No soothing balm re1i«vcs its smart, 
Or binds the ever bleeding vein. 

Then, what cf\n wake the tender tear. 

Or bid the tide of genius roll. 
To him, who sees each future year, 

A deep, sad solitude of soul I 



DESCRIPTION OF THE TEMPLE OF LOT^E. 

From Rhododaphne. A poem in 2 vols. 
" Central amid the myrtle grove 
That venerable temple stands ; 
Three statues, raised to gifted hand?, 
Distinct with sculptured emblems fair. 
Creative, heavenly, earthly love. 
7 he first, of stone and sculpture rude, 
From iramemorial time has stood ; 
Not even in vague tradition known 
Tfie hand that raisM that ancient stone. 
Of brass the next, with holiest thought, 
The skill of Sicyon's artist wrought. 
The tiiird, a marble form divine. 
That seems to move, and breathe, and smile. 
Fair Phryne to this holy shrine 
Convey'd, when her propitious wile 
Had forced her lover to impart. 
The choicest trearure of his art. 
Here, too, in sculptured beauty's pride, 
His skill bus placed by Venus' side ; 
Nor well the enraptured gaze descries, 
Which best might claim the Hesperian prize. 

Fairest youths and maids assembling, 
Dance the myrtle bowers arnonir : 
Harps to softest numbers tremblinc, 
Pour the ImpassionM strain alossg, 



tOVL S BlLLET-DOlfX. 

Where the poets' gifted song 

Hclds the intensely list'ning throng. 

Matrons grave, and sages grey, 

Lead the youthful train, to pay 

Homage on the opening day 

Of love's returning festival : 

Every fruit, and every flower, 

Sacred fo his greater power, 

Twin'd in garlands bright and sweet, 

They place before his sculptur'd feet, 

And on his name they call : 

From thousand lips, with glad acclaim, 

Is breath'd at once that sacred name, 

And music, kindling at the sound, 

Wafts holier, tenderer strains around ; 

The rose a richer sweet exhales ; 

The myrtle waves in softer gales ; 

Through every breast one influence flies ; 

All hate, all evil passion dies. 

The heart of man, in that blest spell, 

Brconi£5 at once a sacred ceil, 

Vv'here Love, and only Love can dwell." 



LOVE'S BILLET-DOUX. 

Love wrote a billet — what do you think 
Was Lo7''s paper, pen and ink ? 
Not such tilings as noortals use ; 
Itik of sable, quill of goose. 
Pewter stand, and paper wove 
Out of rag!<, wont do for Love, 
He cut the heart of a dove in two. 
And mixed the drops with honey clew ; 
In an amber vase he placM it then, 
And went to seek for a lover's pen. 
He pluck'd a ray from the setting sun, 
A plume of light, as the day is done. 



TO EMMA. is 

For Love is warm, the' night invades, 

And ]ove is bright among the shades. 

lie waited till the stars arose. 

Ere he his billet would compose ; 

He wrote on rose leaves, newly blown, 

Because their fragrance is his own. 

A glass ofcapillaire he quaffed, 

Then laughing wrote, and writing laughed- 

*' We were for each other born^ 
We are front each other torn ; 
JVhere we should.^ then let us 6e, 
J with you, and you with me." 

Love copied then his Billet-Doux, 
One for me and one for you ; 
He sealed them with his own dear kisa, 
And sent them by the mail of bliss. 



TO EMMA* 

My Emma, — dear, a sad farewell, 
For we alas I must part. 

And rent will be the magic spell 

That twin'd around each heart T^my love, 
That twin'd around each heart. 

Oh ! for many a rosy hour 

I've stedfast gaz'd on thee, 
But stern Fate's relentless power, 

Will tear thee far from me — my love, 

Will tear the far from me. 

But, Emma, wilt thou e'er forget 
The hours of bliss we've known, 

Or will a tear thine eyelid wet, 

To think that they are flown—my love, 
To think that they are flown. 



16 



GO, FDLE LAYS. 



When lightnings quiver through the sky, 
And howling thunders roll, 

Its flash reminds me of thine eje. 
Whose glaace lit on my soul — my Iov«, 
Whose glance lit on my soul. 



GO, IDLE LAYS/ 

Go, idle lays ! 
Tell her whose youthful heart beats high 

To future days, 
That now so fair in prospect lie, 
How soon our dearest transport? die ! 

Tell her whose cheek 
The blush of conscious pleasure wears, 

That they who seek 
To find delights unmix^'d with cares, 
Sliall own the fond deceit in tears. 

Say, that while charms, 
Which Hebe's transient pleasure lends, 

The bosom warms ; 
Time's envious breath the canker sends, 
That youth's enchanting season ends. 

To her whom health 
With ruddy blushes high illumes, 

Say, that by stealth 
Diseased© pallid Hrrinkles dooms 
The cheek that now so sweetly blooms. 

Tell her whose form 
The partial hand of beauty gav^, 

That from the worm 
Kind Pity's touch shall never save 
The charms that moulder in the grave ! 



to tHE RAINBOW. 19 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws. 

And yet, fail bow, no fabling dreams. 

But words of the Moat High, 
Have told why first thy robe of beams 

Was woven in the sky. 

When o'er the green imdelng'd earth 
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, 

How canae the world's grey fathers forth: 
To watch thy sacred sign. 

And when its yellow lustre smil'd 

O'er mountains yet untrod, 
Each mother held aloft her child 

To bless the bow of God. 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep 

The first-made anthem rang. 
On earth deliver'd from the deep— 

And the first poet eang. 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 

Unraptur'd greet thy beum t 
Theme of primeval prophecy, 

Be still the poet's theme. 

The earth te thee its incenae yields, 

The lark thy welcome sings, 
When ghttering in the fresheu'd fielda, 

The snowy mushroom springs. 

How glorious is thy girdle cast 

O'er mountain, tower, and town. 
Or mirror'ii in the ocean vast 

A thousand fathoms dowOo 

As fresh in yon horizon dark. 

As young thy beauties seem. 
As when the eag^le from the ark 

First spwted ia thy beam. 

B 1 



2U THE WASP. — LOVELY ROSE, 

For faithful to its sacred page, 
Heav'n still rebiiiMs thj gpan ; 

Nor lets the type grow pale with age 
That first spoke peace to man. 



THE JVASP.'-'Bj Mr. Uptox, 

Little cruel renowned fly, 

Why the fair Maria sting t 
She ne'er cans'd distress a sigh. 

She ne'er a living thing. 

Though yon darM invade her breast, 
Did she treat thee like a foe ? 

Or thy frame too roughly press'd ; 
Like tyrant, No, O, no. 

When thy enemies drew near, 
Did she not avert thy death ? 

Did not mercy interfere, 

Issuing pardon from her breast > 

Here and there she let thee tread. 
Where no rude hand ever press'd ; 

Yet by spite or envy led, 

Thou could'st harm that tender breast. 

There, e'en there I no treachery's wing, 
Could'st not from base wrong assist ; 

Rut Ingrate, that bosom sting, 
Monarchs would have died to kiss. 



LOVELY ROSE. 
tvjfE.-^Snowy Rose go deck my fair, 
LovEi.i? Rose, upon th* thorn. 
Glittering with the pearls of morn, 



GRAVE OF THE DUr-XLIST. 2l 

Like a smile, that's gaily hun^ 

On beauty's templing lips go young; 
Gentleness may ever share thee. 
But the hands that rudely tear thee. 
Shall be stung and never wear thee. 

Charming Rose, go fell the maid, 

Where my fondest vows are paid, 

To throw on thee a smile as bright, 

As ever beam'd from morning's light ; 
Go, sweet flower, and also tell her, 
All th> beauties can't excel her, 
All thy beauties can't excel her. f . 



GRAVE OF THE DUELLIST. 
Bi R. S. Coffin. 

Who sleeps beneath this dreary mound. 

Whose ashes here repose ? 
Say not 'tis hoi}', hallow'd ground, 

There's blood upon the rose ! 

Does there a hero sleep beneath. 
Some chief of spotless fame ? 

The flow'ret? here no freigrauce breath, 
No marble speaks iiis name ! 

Is it the lover'* wilher'd form. 

That lips so dark and low ? 
] hear no reqwiem but the storm, 

!So mournful sound of wo ! 

Is it religions' humble child. 
That sleeps in silence here ? 

Around this spot, so drear and wild^ 
I view no friendly tear. 
B 2 



£2 WHAT 1 WISH. 

No — be whose dust is here enshrio'd, 
Possessed a ruffian's heart ; 

No wreath, by Beauty's hand entwioM, 
Did fame to hiofi impart. 

Religion wept not o'er his grave. 
No friend his loss did mourn ; 

He lived, of Honour false, the slave — 
He died his countrt^'s scorn. 



WHAT I WISH. 

I vvM-H my friends were more sincere, 

That slander's tongue would uever bay me. 

And if I whimper in one's ear 

A secret — that he'd not betray me. 

I wish for wealth — 1 wish for fame — 
And yet some good I would be doing ; 

Though I'd deppise a splendid name, , 

Bi'ilt OH my suffering neighbour's ruin. 

To the Attorney — cunning wit — 

Moct ht^artily I wish some conscience ; 

And (o fhe fopling * dandy'' light, 
1 wii-h an end of all his nonsense. 

To each fair lass of gentle mind. 

And soul with virtue's bright flame burning \ 
I wish each pleasure, pure, refin'd, 

With each successive day returning. 

I wi^^h — I can't tell all I wish-^ 

But this 1 know, in plain, fair dealing ; 

I wish each hungry mouth a dish, 
Aud to the nek some sense of feelings 



OK Beauty. — suNSfliNE of the breast. 

OJf BEAUTY.— By S. Woodworth. 

BfiAFTT, sweet mysterious power, 
Secret spring of all that moves, 

Goddess of the Paphian bower. 
Mother of the infant lovers ; 

Which can make the wicked good, 

Savage sentiments abolish. 
Melt the bard, refine the rude. 

Teach the clown, the courtier's polish ; 

Which can make the simple wise, 
Or deprive the wise of reason ; 

Bid the Statesman sink or rise. 
Urge to lojaltj and treason. 

Now exciting modest fear. 

Now with lawless rudeness firing ; 

Prompting to be faithless here, 
There with constancy inspiring. 

'Tis the power that banes or blesses, 
Where shall we its image find ? 

'Ti? the nymph whose eye expresses, 
Charms l>elonging to the mind. 



SUXSHINE OF THE BE EAST. 
There is a " suufhine of the brt.;st,'' 

Can calm life's troubled way, 
Can soothe the soul with grief oppressed, 
Can give to joy a higher zesf, 

And brighten reason's ray. 

Whatever onr atate, where'er we roam. 

It lighten? every care, 
Expels i'oul diiscord from our home. 

And places sweet contentoient thers. 
B 3 



MONTGOMERY.— Bethlehem's star. 

Suns, moons, shall set to rise no more, 

No longer radiance give ; 
Convulsions rend from shore to shore, 

But Virtue shall forever live. 



MONTGOMERY, 

MoNTGOMERT ! what bard e'er sung 

Sublimely sweet as he, 
'Tis like the flow of angel tongue, 

His hallowed poesy. 

Not from Aonia's sacred mount 

Came his inspiring muse, 
Nor drew he from Castalia's fount. 

But drank Heaven's crystal dews. 

By nature nursM the poet grew 

Without the rules of art ; 
He trac'd the maze of feeling through, 

And studied at the heart. 

And oh ! where'er a heart is found 

To feel the sweet conlrol, 
His verse ihall charm, himself be crowned, 

Th« poet of the soul. 



BETHLEHEM'S STAR. 

There is a ray that breaks the gloom, 

Of Sorrow's years ; 
That gilds our pathway to the tomb, 

Dispels our fears. 

It rose with *' healing in ita beam" 
In darkest hour i 



26 



Ati«i shone in majesty supreme 
O'er Bttblehem's (ow'r. 

Bright star I through (hee the child of grief, 

At last is biPss'd ; 
Through thee Ibe mourner finds relief, 

The weary rest. 



JO *♦*». —Croaker, & Co. 
Air. — *' ShanoiCs Side. 

The world is bright before thee, 

Iti fiunimer flowers are thine, 
Its calm blue sky is o'er thee, 

'Ihj bosom, Pleasure's shriue ; 
And thine the sunbeam piven 

To nature's mornii»g hour, 
Pure, warm, as when froua heaven 

U burst on Eden's bower. 

There is a song of sorrow. 

The dealh-dire o! the gay. 
That tells, ere dawn of morrow, 

Thtse charms may melt away ; 
That suns bright beam be s'laded. 

Thy sky be blue no niore. 
The summer flowers be faded, 

And youtij's warm promise oVr. 

Believe it not — though lonely 

Thy evening hotirs may be, 
Though Beauty's bark can only 

Float on a summer sea ; 
Tboas;h Time thy bloom is stealing, 

Thtre's still beyond hi? art. 
The wild flower wreath of feeling, 

The sunbeam of the heart. 
B 4 



26 ODE TO IMPUDENCfc, 

ODE TO IMPUDENCE, 

Integer vifa3, scelerisque purus. 
Horace^ Book 1, Orfe 22, — Croaker, & Co. 

The man who wears a brazen face, 

Quite ft son aixt^ his e:Ias« may quaff; 
And whether m or out of plfice, 

May twirl his stick and laugh .' 
Useless to him the broad doubloon. 

Red note, or dollar of the mill ; 
Though all his gold be in the moon, 

His brass is current money still. 
Thus — when my cash was at low water, 

At Niblo'? I sat down to dine ; 
And, after a tremendous slaughter 

Amont; the wild fowl and the wine, 
The bill before my eyes was placM — 

When, slightly lurnmg round my head, 
** Charge it,'''* cried I — the man amazed I 

Star'd — made his congee — and obey'd^ 

Ob I hear me to some forest thick, 

Where warapum^d Choctaws prowl alone ; 
Where ne*er was heard the name of tick. 

And bankrupt laws are quite unknown ; 
Or to some shop, by bucks abhor'd. 

Who to the longing pauper's sorrow, 
The curst inscription decks the board, 

Of " Fay to-day and trust to-morrow :"" 
Or plunge me in a dungeon tower, 

With bolts and turnkeys blast mine eyes : 
While, calPd from death by Marshall's power, 

The ghosts of murder'd debts arise I 
The easy dupes I'll wheedle still 

With looks of brass and words of honey ; 
And having scor'd a decent bill, 

P^y off my impudence for money. 



VAMTV OF FASHION KDWARD MOIIEIOIV, 

THE VANITY OF FASHION, ' 

A PARODY, ON PSALM 39 C. M. 

'j'kach uie the measure of (he waist, 

Thnn maker of the gown, 
1 vvoiilti i>nrve} the judgement, fasfe, 

And fa^liion of (he town. 

I'a'hion i.i all that v/e can boast. 

A change or two in time. 
We are at best a bill of cost, 

^n ail our tiow'r and prioae. 

See the vain race of females noove, 

\A\s.t gi-psies o'er the plain ; 
Their laugh, their joke, their actions prove^ 

That all their noise is vain. 

Some walk the street to make a show, 

Soflne fiit across (he floor, 
Tbey spend their thne, they know not how 

And straight are seen no mora. 

Why shonld you place dependence, then, 

On such false e:lil'ring dust ? 
ThevMI njake your exjiectations vai«, 

And disa>.j)oiijl jour trust. 

Now then forbid jonr foolish hop.e. 

Your gallant feats recall ., 
Give ail )!>iir fickle follirs up, 

And iiiukc yuiif hcm;^ )our a!L Jfk 



XL.Z OF EDWARD MOP^TOX, WHO DIED 
FOR LOVE. 

ver Ri?.n died of love it wa« Edward Morion. The 
'-.ii'iy to wljom lie became early attaclied was married 
B £> 



.28 LINES OF EDWARD MORETON. 

to another. • Morton was present at the marriaa;e, 
and was never seen to smiJe aHerwards. The lady, it 
is saul, was unhappy in her union, and did not survive 
many year?. Morton died at Corfu. A Portrait of 
the Lady was lound in his port folio, wrapped up ia 
the following lines : 

! SAW thee wedded — fhou didst ^o 

Within <he eacred aisle. 
Thy young cheek in a blushing glow^ 

Betwixt a tear and sraile. 
Thy heart was glad in maiden glee. 
But he it lov'd so fervently 

Was faithless all the while ; 
I hate him for the vow be spoke — 
I hate him for the vow he broUe. 

I hid the love that could not die. 

Its doubts, and hopes, and fears. 
And buried all my misery 

in secrecy and tears ; 
And days past on, and thou didst prove 
The pang of unrequited love, 

E'en in thy earl}' years ; 
And thou didst die, so fair and good i 
Ih silence and in solitude ! 

While thou wart livirg, I did hide 

Affection's secret pains ; 
I'd not have shock'd thy modest piide 

liFor all the world contains ; 
V!ut thou hast perish'd, and the fire 
That, often chfck'd, could ne'er expire, 

Again unhi('ding reij^ns ; 
It is no crime to speak my vow, 
For hh I thou can'st not hear it now. 

Thou slf.ep'st beneath thy lowly stone, 
That dark and dteamiess sleep ; 



COURT REVELS, 

An<^ he, the lov'd and chosen one, 

Why «roes he not to weep ? 
He does not kneeJ where I have knelt, 
He c-^n not feel what I have felt 

The anguish stiJI and deep ; 
The painful thoughts of what has been. 
The canker-worm that is not seea. 

But 1— as o'er the dark blue wave 

Unconsciously I ride, 
My thoughts are hovering o'er thy grave, 

My soul is by thy side. 
There is one voice that wails thee yit^ 
One heart that cannot e'er forget 

The visions that have died ; 
And aye thy form is hurried there, 
A doubt —an amguieh — a despair I 



COURT REVELS.— B^ W. Scott, 

Now in ^ay Holy rood tlie while, 
Dftnte Heron rises with a smile. 

Upon tie harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The s-trings her finger's flew, 
A^d^ as she touch'd and t^u'd thera all. 
E'en her white bosom's rise and fall. 

Was plainer given to view. 
For all for heat^ was laid aside. 
Her wimple, and her plaid untied. 
And first she pitch'd ht-r voice to «ing, 
Then glanc'd her dark fyt on the king, 
And then around the silent ring. 
And laughed, and blusft'd^ and oft did say. 
Her preily oath^ by yea and nay ; 
Sli€ could not, wouid not, durst not play. 



30 BEAUTY IN TEAUS— MY NATtVE \*ALt. 

At length upon the harp with glee, 
Mingled with such simplicity, 
A sort, yet lively air she rung, 
While thus the wily lady sung. 



BEAUTY m TEJinS, 

Oh ! who could betray such a bosom to anguish, 
And blight all the roses, which innocence wear ; 
Bid lover's early smile oft the pale cheek (o languisb. 
And gaze on the ruin — on beauty io tears. 

Is it fate has diseolv'd the gay vision of gladness, 
Kvery thought that delighted, each tie that endear* ? 
The light chords of pleasure are softened to «adneES, 
When tuuchM by the finger'-.-of beauty in tears. 

Yet hope, though by sorrow awhile it be clouded, 
Again htill shall brighten, the pathway of years ; 
As the moon, which the tempest of ocean have shroudedj 
Shines abroad thro' the darkness — like beauty in tears. 

Ever cease then ye muses, your love breathing 

nuatber, 
And still be this bosom, its hopes and its fears ; 
If friendship shall breath its last sigh on my slumber. 
And that slumber be hallov/ed — by beauty in tears. 



MY J^ATIVE V^LE. 

A PASTORAL SONG FROM THE ITALIAN. 

Dear is my native vale, 

Tlie ring-dove builds, and warbles there, 
Close by my cot she tells her tale, 

'J'o ev'rj passing villager : 



THE MEETING. 31 

The squirrel leaps from tree fo free, 
And shells his uuta at liberty. 

In orange groves and myrtle bowers, 
That breath a gale of fragrance rounc!, 

To charm the fairy-footed hours, 

With my lov''d lute's romantic sound ; 

Or erowns of living laurel weave, 

For those that win the race at eve. 

The shepherd's horn at break of day. 

The mimic dance in twilight gJade, 
The rustic glee, and roundeiay, 

Sung in the silent woodland shade ; 
These simple joys, that never fail, 
whall bind me to my native Vale ! 



THE MEETLYG-^By S. Woodworth. 

I saw them meet, the pangs of absence o*er : 
And memory holds a picture of the place, ; 

'Twas at the threshold of her cottage door, 
Eliza met her husband's warm embrace. 

How animated shone her eager eye 

Where joy's delicious tear su^pended hung I 

Her bosom heav'd — but pleasure rais'd the sij^h ; 
Her voice was mute — but bliss had sealed hei 
tongue. 

Press'd in his arms, the chaste connubial kiss 
Pier nectur'd lips by turns received and gave ; 

Then as asham*d of <he excessive bliss. 

Her love-e^cd blush she bids his bosom save. 

vBut recollection whisper'd now a joy — 

'Tw^as her's to give, and fridm the trance she starts. 



3S LYIHG. 

Puis in hii arms their little infant boy, 

JjQve's precious pledge that closer binds their hearts. 



Z,r/AG.~BT T. Moore. 

I do confefp, in oiany a sigh, 
My lips have breath'd jou many a lie ; 
And who, with such delights in view, 
Would loose them for a lie or two ? 
Nay — look not thus, with brow reproving, 
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving ! 
If half we tell the girla were true, 
If half we swear to think and do, 
Were ought but lying's l^right illusion ; 
The world wot3id be in strange confusion. ^ 
Ifladies eyes were every one, 
As lover's swear, a radiant sun, 
Astronomy would ieave the skies, 
To learn her lore in ladies eyes ! 
Oh no I believe me, lovely girl, 
When nature turns your teeth to pearl ; 
Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire. 
Your yellow locks to golden wire ; 
Then, only then, can heaven decr«e. 
That you should hve for only me. 
Or I for you, as night and morn, 
"Wc^ve stvearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn. 
And now, my gentle hints to clear. 
For once I tell you truths my dear ; 
"Whenever you chance to meet 
A loving youth, whose love is sweet. 
Long &s you're false and he belies you. 
Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
So long the blissful bond endures ; 
And while he lies his heart is yours ; 
But oh I y<^u've wholly lost the youth, 
Tie uutum tijat he tells you tralh : 



GRAVE OF BURNS — DISSIPATED HUSBAND, 33 

THE GRAVE OF BURMS. 

Is yonder little snowy dome. 

The sacred shrine, the silent tomb, 

Where thinking strangers love to come- 
Where geqius mourns ; 

The last, the solitary home 
Of thee, poor Burns ? 

Yes, yes, that dome adorns thy bed ! 
'Tis given by those who scarcely bread, 
When living, gave thee ; or a shed 

To hide thy cares ! 
Remorse hath made them sign the deed, 

And sealstU with tears. 

7 bat little spot is thine, and who 
Shall turn thee from thy tenure now ?* 
Thy term is long, thy landlord true. 

Thy troubles cease I 
The great possess no more than thou 

From Heaven's lease. 

Swan of the Nith ! thy wing was light. 
Thy plumes were whitest of the white, 
But wild and wayward was thy flight 

From wave to wave : 
One course was thine — headstrong and bright. 

E'en to the grave. 



THE DISSIPATED HUSBAJVD. 
He comes not — I have watch'd the moon go down, 
But yet he comes not — once it was not so. 
He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow. 
The while he holds his riot in that town. 

♦Poverty had obliged him to quit his farm. 



34 LINES ON DEATH. 

Yet he wiJ! come and chide and I shall vveep ; 

And he will wake my iVifHUi from its sleep, 

To blend its feeble wailiiij^ with my tears. 

Oh I how I love a Jiother'*s watch to keep, 

Over those sleeping; eyes, that smile, which cheers 

My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fix'd and deep. 

I had a husband once, who iovM me — now 

He ever wears a frown upon his brow 

And feeds his passion on a wantoa^s lip, 

As bees, from laurel flowers a poison sip ; 

But yet I cannot hate— Oh ! there were hours, 

When 1 could hang forever on his eye, 

And Time, who siole with silent swiftness by, 

Strew'd as he hurried on, his path w-fh flow'rs. 

1 lov'd him then — he lov'd me too — my heart * 

Still finds its fondness kindle if he smile ; 

The memory of our loves will ne'er depart ; 

^nd though he often sting me with a dart, 

Venom'd and barb'd ; and waste upon the vile, 

Caresses which his babe and mine should share ; 

Though he should spurn me, I will calmly bear 

His madness — and should sickness come and lay 

Its paralizing hand upon him, then 

I would with kindness all my wrongs repay, 

Unlil the penitent should weep, and say, 

How injured and how faithful I had been. P. 



LIMES, -^By Mrs. Barbauld. 

Written in her eightieth yeai\ 

When life in opening buds is sweet, 
And goUien hopes the spirit greet. 
And youth prepares his joys to meet, 
Alas I how hard it is to die I 

When scarce is seized some borrowed prize, 
And duties press, and tender ties 



HYMN : BY HON. JOHN Q.. ADAMS. 3& 

Forbid the soul from earth to rise, 
How awful then it is to die ! 

When one by one those ties are torn. 
And friend from friend is snatch'd forlorn, 
And man is left alone to mourn. 
Ah I ^hen, how easy 'tis to die ? 

When trembling limbs refuse their weight. 
And filths slow gathering dim the sight, 
And clouds obscure the mental light, 
'Tis nature's precious boon to die. 

When faith is strong and conscience clear, 
And words of peace the spirit cheer, 
And vision'd glories half appear, 
'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die ! 



Written in 1 802, by the Hon, J. Q. Adams, 
When o'er the billow heaving deep, 

The fathers of our race, 
The precepts of (heir God to keep, 

Sought here their resting place ; 
That gracious God their path prepar-d 

Preserv'd from ev'ry harm, 
And still for their protection bar'd 

His everlasting arm. 

His breath inspiring ev'ry gale, -f^- 

Impels them o'er the main ; 
His guardian angels spread the sail, 

And tempests howl in vain : 
For them old ocean's rocks are smooth^i 

December's face grows mild, 
To vernal airs her blasts are smocthMt 

And all their rage bpgnil'd. 



36 TO MISS **** 

When Famine roUs her haggard eyes, 

His ever bounteous hands 
Abundance from the sea supplies, 

And treasures from the sands. 
Nor yet his tender mercies cease ; 

His over-ruling plan 
Inclines to gentleness and peace 

The heart of savage man. 

And can our stony bosoms be 

To all these wonders blind ? 
Nor swell with thankfulness to Thee, 

O, Parent of mankind ! 
All gracious God ! inflame our zeal, 

Dispense one blessing more I 
Grant us thy boundless love to feej, 

Thy goodness to adore. 



TO MISS *♦** 
I LOVE thy form's enchanting grace, 
The smile that decks thy dimpled face ; 
The careless look, and joyous mien. 
Where never ceasing laughter's seen. 
The archness spark ing in thy eyes ; 
But O ! thy trifling I despise. 
That trifling, which, where'er thou art, 
Still seems thy souPs far better part ; 
Though geniu?, beauty, sense are thine, 
All, all are sunk in folly's mine ; 
Unmeaning whispers— bantering play. 
In one dull round fill up each day. 
O check these flights, while yet you may, 
For once let reason hold her sway ; 
Let ivisdom's voice, ' whose paths are peao«,' 
Bid all these silly humours cease ; 
Or else, howe'er your charms are priz'd. 
You'll just be known to be despised. 



POEM. 

POEM, — By James MoittgomerTo 

The lioD o'er his wild domains. 
Rules by the terror of his eye : 

The eagle of the rock maintains 
By force his empire in the sky. 

The shark, the tyrant of the flood, 

Pursues his prey with quenchless rage, 

Parent and young, unwean'd from bloodj 
Are still the same from age to age. 

Of all that live, and move and breathe, 
Man only rises o'er liis birth ; 

He looks around, above, beneath, 
At once the heir of heaven and earth. 

Force, cunning, speed, which nature gavft 
The various tribes throughout her plan ; 

Life to enjoy — from death to save — 
These are the lowest powers of man. 

From strength to strength he travels on j 
He leaves the lingering brute behind ; 

And, when h few short years are gone. 
He soars, a disembodied mind. 

Destined his future course sublime 

Through nobler, brighter paths to run ; 

With him the final end" of time 
Is but eternity begun. 

What guides him in his high pursuit^ 
Opens, illumines, cheers his way ? 

Discerns th' immortal from the brute, 
God's image from the mound of clay ? 

*Tis knowledge — knowUdge to the soul. 
Is power, and liberty, and peace : 

And while celestial ages roll, 
The iojs of knowledge shall increase. 

c i 



38 SON.C^i COME RAYMOND. 



And then, the generous plan, 

Which spreads the light with universal beams ;, 
And thought the human de?ert leads 

I'ruth^s living, pure, perpetual slrearas.. 

Behold a new creation rise ! 

New spirit breath'd into a cloud — 
Behold, the voice of wisdom cries, 

•♦ Man, know thyself," and fear thy God« 



SOJ^G : COME RAYMDJ^D, 

A woman having rescued by stratageai, her husband, 
(who was a prisoner of war) from the place of his 
confinement, sings the following- song, as they aie 
pursuing their journey homeward by night. 

Come Raymond, Raymond, speed along. 
Dark fears upon my fancy throng, 
For we are foreign wilds among, 

With not a friend to guide us ; 
Rough, rough and dreary is the road, 
That leads to our once bless'd abode, 
And hark (com yonder bursting cloud, 

The tempest Sbems to /shide us. 

D, Raymond, I have vvander'd far. 
Led by the light of loveN pure star, 
Th»ough scenes where slau^ljler drivei? her ca/if 

To succour and to save thee ; 
And Iht-re full many a scheme Pve plann'd, 
To bear thee from the foemau's hand, 
\Vlio raising nigh the vengeful brand. 

Soon, soon of life would reave thee, 

Succeas my darling toil has crown'd, 
yo rriaon walls thy form surround^ 



COLIN AND LUCY. S^ 

•With quicker steps then let us bound, 

And frfish our spirits rally : 
Tor thee the storm ha,< roli'd away ; 
The smiling: dawn leads on the day, 
And yonder, clad in rich array, 

Appears our native valley. 

All hail, ye honored objects ; haiT, 
Ye flowery lawns ; thou fertile cjal«, 
And streamlet where the fitful gale, 

In sportive mood is swelling ; 
And hail, once more, ye Torms so bright, 
Q'lick risiog to my raptur'd sight. 
That crown with every new delight, 

The Cotter's happy dwelling. 



COLIN AND LUCY. 

The following was written by Tickell, the friend of Ad- 
dison^ a hundred years ago : it is one of the purest 
models of Ballad composition that has ever appeared 
ifl our laoguage.^ — Comp» 

Of Leinster famM for maiden^s fair, 

Bright Lucy was the grace ; 
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream, 
Reflect so fair a face ; 

Till luckless love, and pining care 

Impaired her ros hue, 
Her coral lips, and damaek cheeks, 

And eyes of glossy blue. 

Oh ! have you se* n a lily palp. 

When beriting raiii?! descend ? 
So Hroop'd the slow coosmoing maid, 

Her life now near its end. 
c 2 



4Q COLIN AND LVCY. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flatt'ring swains. 

Take heed, ye easy fair! 
Of vengeance due t*^ broken vows, 

Ye perjured swains beware. 

Three times, all in the dead of night, 

A bell was heard to ring, 
And at her window, shrieking thrice^ 

The raven flappM his wing. 

Too well, the love-lorn maiden knew 

The solemn boding sound, 
And thus in djing words bespoke, 

The virgin's weeping round : 

" I heard a voice you cannot hear, 

AVhich says 1 must not stay ; 
I see a hand, jou cannot see, 

Which beckons me away. 

Ey a false heart and broken vows 

in early youth I die ; 
Was I to blame, because his brida 

Was thrice as rich as I ? 

Ah, Colin I give not her ihy vows, 

Vows due to me alone : 
Nor thou fond naaid ! receive his kiss. 

Nor Uiiuk him all thy own. 

To-morrow in the church to wed 

Impatient, both prepare •, 
But know fond maid I and know false man \ 

That Lucy will be there. 

Then bear my corse, ye Comrades ! bear^ 
The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 

Fe m his wedding trim so gay, 
I in my winding fheet. 



fHE WATER MELON. 41 

Sbe spoke ; she died — her corse was borne 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding trim so gay^ 

She in her winding sheet. 

Then what were peij ar'd Colin's thoughts, 

How were those nuptials kept I 
The bride-men flockM round Lucy dead, 

And all the village wept. 

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, 

At once his bosom swell ; 
The damps of death bedewM '.lis brow, 

He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 

From the vain bride, (ah, bride no more I) 

The varying crimson fled. 
When stretch'd before his rivaKs corse 

She saw her lover dead. 

Then to his Lucy's new made grave, 

Convey'd by trembling swair.?, 
One mould witk her, beneath one sod. 

Forever now remains. 

Oft at ihe grave the constant hind, 

And plighted maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay, and true love knot. 

They deck the sacred green. 

Bui swain foresworn'd, whoe'er thou art, 

This hallow'd spot forbear ; 
Remember Colin's dreadful fate. 

And fear to meet him there. 



THE WATER-MELOJ^.^By S. Woodworth 
TwAs nooB, and the reaper's reposed on the bank 
Where our ruraJ repast had been spread, 
c 3 



42 THE PLANT, FORfiET ME NOT. 

Beside us meandered the rill where we drank, 
And the green wiliows waved over our head. 

I^ucinda, the queen of our rustical tent. 
With siiiles, like the season auspicious. 

Had rendered the scene and the banquet more sweety 
But on 1 the dessert was delicious. 

A melon, the sweetest that loaded the vine, 

The kind hearted damsel had brought ; 
Its crimson core teemed with the richest of wine ; 

♦' How much like her kisses !'' I thought 
And I said, as its nectarious juices I quatTd, 

" How vain are the joys of the vicious ! 
No trophicai fruit ever furnish'd a draught, 

Se innocent, pure and delicious. 

In the seeds which embellish thU red juicy core, 

An emblem of life we may view ; 
For human enjoyments are tlius sprinkled o^er, 

With specks of an ebony hue." 
But if we are wise to discard from the mind, 

Every thought and afleclion that's vicious, 
"Like the seed speckled core of the mellon, we'll find^ 

Caeh innocent pleasure delicious. 



LmES, 

On hearing that the plant called the Myasotes ^mtimj, 
or Forget me -not, was growing on the plains of Wat- 
erloo, after the battle. 
There is a flower whose opening blaom, 

Beams softly o*er the Hero's grave, 
Whose trembling leaf, and sweet perfume, 
Denotes the dwelling ol the brave. 

No urn is there ; that little flow'r 
Alone remains their woes to tell, 



GLOOK OF AUTUMS. 43 

How «ft they bled in battle's hour ; 
How valor fought and prudence lell ! 

Sweet child of Sprinz, thy mode?! head 
Was born to grace some bapj.ier spot } 

And wUt thoa bloona amoog the dead, 
And only say, ^ forget me nat P"* 

'^ i would net leave this plain of rest 
For brighter skies and miJder climes ; 

Ht? I repose on honor's breast, 
UamovM by £ear, unita2&''d bj crimes. 

At midnight oft the orphan steals. 

O'er me to pour the sacred tear ; 
And while its heart a throbbing r?eis, 

ile knows his parents srave is here . 

And shall I leave the hero's tomb. 

Or mock the orpfcan-a tender woe r 
^0 I stranger, } was bom to bloom 

Where streams of widowM sorrow nciv 

Gnard of the midnight hoar, fareweU •' 
Still o'er the slumb'ring warrior ware : 

3e mine the sacred task to tell 

The charms thai smile on glon's gnve ' 



GLOOM OF AUTCM.y. 

Hail, ye sisrhiog sons of sorrow, 

Vipw with me th' autumnal jloon •. 
Learn from Ihence your f^.te tr»-mcTcw 

Dead perhaps, laid ii» the tomb ! 
See all nature fading, dyine. 

Silent all things seem to mourn ; 
Life from vtgefation liring, 

ikings to aaiod the mop'derinr tR . 
c 4 



44 GLOOM OF AUTUMN, 

Oft autumnal tempests rising, 

Make the lofty forest nod ; 
Scenes of nature how surprising ! 

Read in nature, nature's God. 
See the God, the great Creator, 

Lives eternal in the sky, 
While we mortals yield to nature, 

Bloom awhile, Ih^ fade and diev 

Nations die by dread Bellona,* 

Through enrag'd tyrannic kings, 
Just as plants, in pale Autumna^ 

Fall, to rise in future springs. 
Mournfal scenes, when vegetation 

Dies by frost, or worms devour ; 
Doubly mournful, when a nation, 

Dies by neighbouring nation's power. 

Death and war my mind depresses ; 

Autumn shows me my decay ; 
Brings to mind my past distresses, 

Warns m^ of a dying day. 
Autumn mak^s me raBlanchoIy, 

Strikes dejectibn through my soul. 
While I mourn my former folly, 

Waves of sorrow o'er me rolL 

Lo ! I Rear the air resounding 

With expressing insects cries ; 
Ah ! their moans, to me how wounding, 

Emblems of my wretched sighs '. 
How winds about are roaring, 

Noisy waters ronnd me rise, 
While I sit my fate deploring, 

Tears fast streaming from my eyes. 

* Bellctna 115 the Goddess of war. 



GLOOM OF AUTUMN, 45 

What (ome are Autumn's treasures, 

Since I know no earthly joy ? 
Long I've lost all youthful pleasures, 

Time must youth and health destroy. 
Pleasures once I fondly courted, 

Fhar'd each blUs that youth bestows ; 
But (o see where then I sported, 

^ow embitters all my woes. 



Age and sorrow since have blasted. 

Every youthful, pleasing dream ; 
Quivering age with youth contrasted, 

Oh how short their glories seem I 
As the annual frosts are cropping 

Leavp? and tendrils from the trees, 
So my friends are yearly dropping, 

Through old age and dire disease. 



Former friends how oft I've sought 'em, 

Just to cheer my drooping mind ; 
But they're gone like leaves in aatumn, 

Driv'n before the dreary v,^ind. 
When a few more years I've wasted. 

When a few more springs are o'er, 
^Vhen a few more griefs I've tasted, 

1 shall live to d*e no more. 



Fast ray su n of life's declining, 

I must sleep hi death's dark nig t ; 
But my hope's pure, and refining, 

Rests in future life and light. 
Cease this trembling, fearing, sighing, 

Christ will burst the silent tonib ; 
Then the saints shall upwards flying. 

Rise into immorla! bloom I 
► r fi 



THE STREAM OF TIME. 

THE STREAM OF TIMS, 

By the author of " Gloom of AutumnJ*^ 

How sweet the stream of lime appears, 
VVhtch glides along this vale of tears, 

To waft away our woes I 
Ah I like yon lovely frozen stream, 
The current of life's pleasant dream, 

(Jongeal'd by sorrow flows. 

Delightful river ! where 1 sing, 
Thy face shall feel returning Spring, 

To set thy current free ; 
But ah ! the irost of M'int'ry age. 
Which binds me with its icy rage, 

Admits no Spring for me. 

On (he?e lov'd banks, I once have leen 
All nature deckM with summer's green, 

'Midst warmth of kindred fr/endt : 
Though these are constant, some have fled 
Like snow, now o'er that river's bed, 

As cold their kindness ends. 

The trees that decorate the land. 
Which on this river's margin stand, 

Shall see a vernal bioora ; 
But wither'd as I am, alas I 
Must hasten down time's current pas«, 

And sink within the tomb. 

Those rocky hills (hat few can^imb, 
No watery stream, n r stream ^time, 

Ciin (heir foundation mo\e ; 
But time's., vast stream may soon convej 
Each kindred friend (o heaven away, 

Where flows eternal love. 

While on Connec(icut's fair bank. 
Through age and grief! sit a blaftk^ 



THE minister's CORDIAL. 47 

And view (he frozen flood ; 
Though sorrow drowns my early love, 
My faith and hope are fix'd above, 

Where dwells my Saviour God, 



THE MimSTER'S CORDIAL. 

A HYMN BY ABNER JONES, 

I KNOW my labor in the Lord, 
While I am trusting in his word, 
Will nerer, never be in vain — 
He does my feeble soul sustain. 

That word that saith, " go preach— repent,'^ 
Is tlie kind word for which I'm sent — 
Sweet cordial word, — " lo, I'm with you," 
Bears up my soul, in trials too. 

The word sailh, " feed my lambs and sheep, 
With them rejoice, and with liiem weep ; 
Water the garden of the Lord, 
And you shall feast upon his word.'* 

When through deep triaJs, like St. Paul, 
My pathway leads me there to fall ; 
To God ril look by constant prayer, 
'Till clouds blow off with a clear air, 

Then'to the business of the day, 

In all I do to watch and pray ; 

I sorrow, plough, and sow my seed ; 

Leave all to Christ — my cause to plead » 

All in doe season I shall reap ; 
(Though while I'm sowing here I weep ;) 
threat things, shall say the Lord hath done ;. 
Xhrou,^h him (he-^ictorv is woo. 



48 CORYDON. ' 

CORYDOX, 

AN ELEGY, lA SCRIBED TO MAnT. 

By Mrs. C. M. Thayer, of Canandaigua. JV. F. 

1'he day is departed, and twilight appears, 

And softene the shades on the plain ; 
The labVer returning, lone Philomel hears. 

And sweetlj re-echoes the strain. 

Now Mary, while silence steals over the grove, 

And shadows enDbosora the glade, 
To yon weeping willow we^ll pensively rov?; 

For there^s our Cory don* laid. 

How often at even his harp ha? he strung, 

And warbled his fancies so wild ; 
And, Mary, how sweet were the songs that he sung, 

For he was simplicity's child. 

O hnllow the green turf that pillows his head, 

Afid place the wild harp by his side ; 
The breeze that sweeps o'er it soft music shaQ spread, 

And tell how our Corydon died. 

Unus'd to deception, iinpr&ctis'd in guile, 

Thro' faith's mighty energy brave. 
The monarch of terrors he hail'd with a smile. 

And triumph'd o'er death and the grave. 

Enclasp'd in the arms of a Saviour he lov'd,. 
No fears could his bosom annoy ; 

■ t 

* A young gentleman, who died at Providence, R. L 
a friend of the author, but still nearer to ber friend 

Mary. He was a student in the University, and dlied of 
a lingering hectic, contracted by a too intense appKca- 
tion to study. He wrote a beautiful Pastoral, some 
lime before his deitth, under the signature ojf Corydou. 



CORYDON. 4^ 

With sweet resignation be gently remov'd, 
To reap the fruition of joy. 

See, Mary, the embryo cup of the rose, 

The pearl of mild evening wears ; 
For night o'er the earth her duH canopy throws, 

And nalnre laments it in tears. 

But morn will restore ev'ry charm to o»ir view, 
And a thousand new beauties disclose ; 

And Plicebus shall kiss off the pearls of rich dew, 
From the beautiful cheek of the rose. 

But dreary and dark is the night of the tomb, 

Where Corydon"'s relics are laid ; 
No sunshine of nature can pierce the deep gloom, 

Or carols awaken the dead. 

Yet the mandate eternal shall burst the co!d tomb, 

And virtue in beauty array'd. 
Shall start into life, and eternally bloom. 

Where the roses of hope never fade. 

Then Mary, no longer for Corydon mourn, 

Nor dare of thy God to coHiplaui ; 
O snatch his wild harp from the mouldering urn, 

And strike its bold numbers again. 

JiCt mild resignation attemper the lay. 
And tune the s} mphonions lyre ; ' 

On faith's ea^le pinions soar gladly away. 
And join in the heavenly choir. 

See, see thro' the gloom that o'er shadows thy head, 

A starry -crown'd Seraph appears. 
In glittering robes of bright glory array'd, 

And beauty immortal she wears. 

'T is religion, she bends o'er young Corydon's om, 
And whispers in accents of love ; 



50 ELEGV ON AN LNTANT. 

Mary, no lon?:er for Corydon mourn, 
He triumphs in glory above. 

1 taught him to press the dark valley of death, 

With horrors and shades overspread ; 
And when from his lips fled the last lingering breath, 
I plac'd a rich crown on his head. 

Then Mary, prepare thee to meet him again, 
Where sighing and sorrow shall cease ; 

In vir(ue*s bright path the bless'd haven attain, 
Where all is composure and peace . 



KLEGY, 

Occasioned hy the death of an infant daughter, J^'ovein- 
6cr 15, ia09. By the same. 

"• Bright, earthly^ transient^ chaste as morning deWy 
She sjiarkl^df tvas exkaVd, and went to htav'n,'^'* 

COMPLAIMT. 

How oft has my harp been in sympathy strung, 
And the plaintive wild strains of sad elegy sung, 

For beauty and innocence flown ; 
Ere feelings maternal were formed in my heart, 
Or the muse could a sigh fiom Parnassus impart. 

To elegize griefs of my own. 

I have seen the young rose-bud, in Spring's early dawnj 
Ere the dreary cold storms of chiJJ winter arc gone, 

A blossom of beauty unlbld ; 
But, too feeble the frosts of rude April to brave, 
It has sunk like my child, to a premature grave, 

The victim of tempest and cold. 

I have seen the gay tulip, the pride of the vale, 
Tno' it blossouj'd at noon, ere evening grow pale, 
4ftd wither «nd die in a day ; 



ELEGY, ON AN INFANT. 51 

I have seen the fair vi'Iets of beautiful hue. 
But their bloom will not last, and they fade like the 
dew, 
That hangs o"'er the eyelids of May. 

If beauty, or sweetness, or youth could avail, 
The rose should not wither, the tulip grow pale, 

Nor the viMets of summer decay ; 
Nor should the young cherub, so recently given. 
That shone like a bright scientillation from heaven, 

Be hurried thus swiftly away. 

O nature, dear nature, how potent thou art ! 
The pangs thou excit'st in my agonizM heart, 

Philosrophy hardly will own ; 
Tho^ reason instructs, that the God who had given, 
Halh taken my child to his bosom in heaven. 

Yet feeling laments that 'tis gone. 

Tho* it bloom'd like the first little roses of Spring, 
That scarce to the zephyr their fragrance can fling. 

When their bloom and their beauty are o'er : 
Transplanted to gardens of glory above, 
Its fragrance shall live, and its beauty improve. 

When nature and time are no more. 

Then, why should I grieve for its early decay ? 
Since 'tis taken from scenes of affliction away, 

To mansions of glory above ? 
Then why should a sigh rend my agoniz'd breast. 
In death ithasenter'd a permanent rest. 

On the bosom of omnific Love. 

Yet emblem of beauty thus recently fled ! 

I'll hallow the green turf that pillows thy head, 

To aflfection and sympathy dear ; 
And oft as lone Philomel pours her sad lay, 
I'll visit the spot that emfeosoms thy clay. 

And thy mem'ry embalm with a tear. 



BS bong: by dr. franklin. 

SOJ^G : 

Written by the celebrated Dr. Franklin^ in hoartw 

of his wife. 

Op our Chloes and Phllises, poets may praity 

I sing of my plain country Joan. 
Now twelve years my wife, still the joy of my life, 

BlessM day that I made her my own ! 

Not a word of her shape, her face, or her eye«^ 
Or of flames or of darts, shall you hear , 

Though I beauty admire, 'tis virtue I prize^ 
For it fades not in seventy years. 

With peace and good humor my household ?he guides, 

Right careful to save what I gain, 
Yet cheerful attends, and«mjies on my friends, 

Whom with pleasure I oft entertain. 

In;heelth, a companion delightful and dear, 

Still easy, engaging and free, 
In sickness no less than the tenderest nurse, 

She's tender as tender can be. 

She defends my good name, e'en when I'm to blame 
Friend firmer to man ne'er was given ; 

Her compassionate breast feela for all the distress'd. 
Which draws down new blessings from heaven . 

Some faults we have all — and so may my Joan, 

But th.en they're exceedingly small ; 
And now I'm us'd to them, they're so like my own, 

1 can scarcely discern them at all. 

Was the fairest young princess, vith millions in purse* 

To be had in exchange for ray Joan, 
She could not be abetter, she might be a worse, 

So I'd e'en be content with my Joan, 



LUCINDA, ADIEU. 53 

LUCINDA, ADIEU, 

Composed hy Rev. Hosea Ballou on tht death ef Mrs. 
Lucinda .Tvnk— Exile of Erin, 

How hard is my fortune, my heart aches with sorrow I 

My soul in its anguish shall weep for a friend, 
"Who has fallen a prey to death's cruel arrow. 

All skill was exhausted but none could defend. 
But alas ! she's gone, and the grave has conceal'd her, 
How hard was my fortune when forc'd for to yield her, 
In the bosom of love, so strongly I held her. 
But lo I she has left me — Lucinda adieu I 

As fair as Diana, the goddess of beauty, 

She blush'd like the rose in morning of life ; 
I saw her with wonder, my soul was delighted, 

Sfie gave me her hand, and I made her ray wife : 
And softer than silk was the hand of her union, 
Our hearts join'd in one by the graces of Hymen, 
I was charm'd wiih her eyes, as flames of a diamond, 
But lo ! she has left me — Lucinda, adieu I 

From the days of her youth, my friends yoa have known 
her, 

And much yofl delighted her company dear ; 
But now you are called with vnB to bemoan her, 

A tribute to pay witli a grief falling tear : 
Three sweet little babes she has left to condole me, 
And you my dear friends, she has left to console me, 
And since my sad fate here my fortune has told me, 

That I am bereaved — Lucinda, adieu I 

No more will she meet us in circles of pleasure, 

Or innocent mirth the glad evening beguile ; 
No more will she treat us in bounteous measure, 

Or light up our joys with an affable smile j 
My house is a hdmlet, a desolate mansion, 
I mourn as I walk in each room in extension, 
I- look on my babes with racking invention. 
And murmur in silence — Lucinda, adieu ! 



S4s ELEGY. 

How keen was my anguish, my heart thriJI'd with 
sorrow, 

When the eyes of my angel closed in death ; 
Sure no one can tell how I felt when I saw her 

Resign up to nature her last dying breath. 
Oh where shall I rest for with grief I am drowned, 
Bly hopes and my joys by her death are confounded. 
With sorrow and with grief, mj heart is surrounded, 

Oh I am bereaved — Lucinda, adieu ! 

Like Aurora in beauty, her mind was composed, 
Her faith in her Saviour was steadfast and sure. 
While her hope in her God, she in safety deposed, 

And welcomed grim death all its pains to endure : 
The wings of her faith she stretched without measure, 
In heaven she laid up her goddess a treasure. 
She bade me farewell in a transport of pleasure, 
And left me bereaved — Lucinda, adieu ! 



ELEGY, 

fFritten on the death of Mrs. Chapman^ who died in 
Mwbury, Ft. J^ot. 20, IB'i.O.^By Mrs. Wilson, 

The first verse is inscribed on the Grave-stone, erected 
by her friends, to her memory. 

This aged saint has won her way 
By faith, and gain'd the blest abode ; 

Her happy soul has left this clay. 
To dwell forever with the Lord. 

Our sister dear is calPd away. 

Her bodj lies beneath the ground ; 

Oh help us mighty God we pray. 
With joy to meet the solemn sound. 

The solemn sound of death will come, 
And we must leave our all below ; 



ODE, ON THS DEATH OF DR, FRANKLtlf. 65 

And when to dust we do return, 
We hope to leave all pain and wo. 

Thy aged servant, Lord regard — 

Bereav'd of his dear bosom friend ; 
We know his trials must be hard ; 

O Saviour to him comfort send. 

Oh ! soothe his sorrows mighty God I 

May he in meek submission stand ; 
And mildly kiss the chast'ning; rod. 

That comes from thine almighty hand. 

O children dear, why should you mourn ; 

If you have lost, it is her gain : 
Your tender mother now is gone, 

And back to you canU come again. 

Her eyes are closed, her body cold, 

Her pleasing voice is lost in death ; 
And may you say with one of old, 

" The Lord can take and give our breath,-' 

Dry up yonr tears, ye mourning souls, 

And »ay the will of God be done — 
One look from him will make you whole, 

By faith in Jesus Christ his Son. 



ODE, OJV THE DEATH OF DR. FRANKLIN" ^ 
Am.—" Return Enraptured Hours '"^ 

The fairest flow'rets bring 

In all their vernal bloom, 
And let the sweets of Spring 

Adorn great Franklin^s tomb. 
The patriot's toil is done, 

At length his labors cease \ 

D 1 



THE MOURNING ORPHAN. 

The unfading crown is won, 
His $un descends in peace. 

The sons of science grieve, 

Each patriot heaves a sigh, 
Yet scarcely can, believe 

Such worth coiild ever die. 
N® I deathless is that name. 

Whose glory must increase. 
And FrarMMs splendid fame, 

With time alone can cease. 

While nimble lightnings fly. 

While awful thunders roll. 
While meteors gild the sky. 

And dnrt from pole to pole, 
Mankind will still admire. 

When Frtnklin's name they hear, 
Who snatch'd celestial fire, 

And broke th* oppressor's spear. 

I'hrough ev'ry future age, 

Whilfc*t hhVrj holds her pen, 
SheMl rank our honoured sage 

Among the first of men ; 
And when she counts her sons. 

Who've earn'd immortal famCt 
Sbnll next to Washington's^ 

Kecord great Franklin''^ name . 



THE MOURmNG ORPHA:^. 

'ihe following stanzas were written by a young man of 
Coiinih, Vt. on the death of hi« only parent, his 
uiothtr ; his father died some years before. She, at the 
tiaie of her death, was the wife of Mr. EliphalcJt 
Tenny, Lomp, 



THE MOURNING ORPHAN. 57 

Ah I who can tell my woe and grief, 

Or in the scale my sorrows weigh ? 
I gigh, but still find no relief — 

A child of grief and misery. 
O ! come, my friends, and mourn with me, 

With tears bedew the silent urn ; 
Come drop the tear of sympathy, 

For I, — a wretched orphan mourn. 

A father dear, I once possejs'd ; 

A mothkr with affection kind ; 
They me in childhood, oft caress'd, 

And sooth'd the anguish of my mind : 
TheyVe eone, and like a dream they're fled, 

And to the lonely grave are borne ; 
Their sculs to heavenly bliss have sped, 

And I, an orphan left lo mourn . 

Mj fdther died wh^n I was youne, 

Methinks I hear his dying groan ; 
With grief my mother's heart was vvrnng, 

But bore the dreadinl shock alone ! 
Oft Pve beheld the starting tear, 

While she was musing all alone ; 
But sorrow more, she shall not fear, 

She's gone : and J, an orphan m,ourn ! 

She bade me in my mind t($ bear 

The council of my father* kind ; 
She warri*d me t90, for death prepare. 

That I a happy rest might find : 
With tears she oft did me address, 

'' My child, you must again be born, 
Else you will find nft happmess, 

While for your father here you mourn 1" 



* ?Tlr. Tenny his stepfather. 



58 UNE8 IN MEMORY OF MAJOR PETERS. 

Now in the silent giave they sleep ; 

Troubles and toils with them are o'er ; 
They've met in bliss, they ne'er will weep, 

They've join'd the hand to part no more : 
The}- may be hovering o'er my head. 

To guard me from eome unseen storm ; 
And while I sleep, may wat<;h my bed. 

While a sad orphan here I mott/rn ! 

Oh ! may the counsel, which they gave, 

Be foliow'd — I my time improve ; 
Then, when my body's in the grave, 

My soul j-hall be with those I love : . 
When I'm a lifeless lump of clay, 

And ta the silent grave am borne, 
Then cheer your hearts my friends I prar, 

Think I an orphan cease to mouni ! 



LIKES, 

In memory of the late Major George P. Peters, who died 

at Fort Gadsden, {E. F.) Kov. 28lh 1819, aged 3U. 

By Mrs. Lavina Stoddard of Alabama, 

O I Lonely and wild is that region afar, 

And silent the dark forests wave, 

AVhere the moon's mournful light and the evening «tar, 

Shine cold on the tomb of the brave. 

Yet think not no tribute to memory dear, 

The sod that enwraps him hath bless'd. 

The Hero's deep sigh and the soldiers' warm (ear, 

Have hallow'd the place of his rest. 

And there shall the sigh of affliction be sent, 
From the good, and the fair, and the brave ; 
And glory and grief, in sad harmony blent, 
Twine wreaths for the warriors grave. 



SONG* 69 

And the banner he honored, (he Eagle and Stars, 
Shall still guard his mouldering frame ; 
And fame, as she blazons Columbians wars, 
Shall swell the bold blast with his name. 

O I weep not that glory's bright wreath should decay. 
Nor honor's reft scutcheon bewail, 
That hope's lovely blossom should wither awajr, 
And fortune's gay promise should fail. 

For all that the bla<!ts of destruction can blight. 
And all that can fade in the tomb, 
Shall spring from the grave of the hero* all bright, 
In " beauty immortal" to bloom. 



SO^fG. 

The following beautiful lines are from the pen of the late 
Dr. Drake, whose untimely end renders the suc- 
ceeding extracts from Jeremy Taylor not unappropri- 
ate attendants of the relics of that genius whose loss we 
have so much reason to deplore. 

Oh ! the tears in my eye, and ray heart it is breaking ; 
Thou hast fled from me, Connel, and left me forsaken I 
Bright and warm was our morning, but soon has it 

faded, 
For I gave thee a true heart, and thou hast betrayed it ! 

Thy footsteps I followed in darkness and danger. 
From the home of my love to the land of the stranger, 
Thou wert mine through the tempest, the blight, and 

the burning — 
Could I think thou would change when the morn was 

returning ! 

Tfct peace to thy heart, though from mine it must 
sever — 
j> 3 



€0 ADDRESS TO STEWART.— MARY LE MORE. 

May she love thee as I lovM — alone and forever — 
I may weep for thy loss, but my faith is uDshaken ; 
And the heart thou hast widowM will bless thee m 
breaking. 



The following is an address from Mrs. Morton of Bos- 
ton to Mr. Stewart, It is an exquisite eulogium upon 
painting as well as a just tribute to the painter. 

Stewart, thy portrait speaks ! With skill divine 
Round the light graces flow the vmving line ; 
Expression in its finest utterance lives, 
And a new language to creation gives. 
Each varying trait the gifted artist shows — 
Wisdom majestic in his bending brows ; 
The warriors open front, his eye of fire — 
As where the charms of bashful youth retire ; 
Or patient, plodding, and with wealth content. 
The man of commerce counts his cent per cent ; 
'Tis characttr that breathes, 'tis soul that twines 
Round the rich canvass traced in living lines, 
Speaks in the face, or in the form displayed. 
Warms in the tint, and mellows in the shade, 
These touching graces, and that front sublime, 
Thy art shall rescue from the spoil of time. 
Thence the fair victim scorns the threat'ning rage 
And trembling step of slow advancing age. 
Still on her cheeks the rose of beauty blows. 
Her lips deep tint its breathing crimson shows ; 
Like the magicians wand, thy pencil gives 
Its potent touch, and every feature lives. 



MARY LE MORE. 

The fallowing is an epitome of Bristed's Mary le More, 
to the tuue of Eveleea's Bower, which on account 



lO-DAY. €1 

of a peculiar trait in its character, I am too rood- 
-tjt n iiiau to niemiou h.s been discarded from gen- 
tee) society : 

Ye so'dit-rs of Britain ! 

The children ef Erio, 
Your merciless doings, lonj!:, long will deplore — 

For black is the the spot, 

VVhtre once ftood the cot, 
That was bles&ed by tlie sniiles of eweet Mary le 
More. 

By her father s)ie stood, 

Who lay stretched in his blood, 
And looked up to heaven hi? life to implore ; 

But his life-stream was flowing, 

Poor Derniot was goine. 
He groaned— and left tatherless Mary le More. 

Now a maniac she's seen 

On her once favourite green, 
f'ulHng flowers to wreath round the tomb of her sire 

Then she ir'ms^a a wild strain, 

IIow poor Dermol was slain. 
And left on the surf-beaten shore to expire. 

Oh soldiers of Hritain 1 

Tlie children of Erin, 
Vonmnercile^s <=ioing«. long, long will deplore — 

For Derrnof (be l'>rave. 
Now sleeps in hii grave, 
And the blue waves of Erin hide Mary le More. 



TO DAY, 

The jo>!j of Hope let others boast 
And in rcverfion rest ; 
i> 4- 



^52 STANZAS ON AN XRlSiHMAN, 

Anliciimtion cheers them most — 

1 prize the blips possest. 
What scene? to-morrow may be brought, 

How bu*y and how gay, 
Will ne'er excite one anxious thought 

If pleasant be to-day. 

The Merchant trades to foreign lands, 

And braves the billowy main, 
And buys and sells and schemes and planji^ 

In hopes of future gain. 
But whelming waves or wasting fire 

May take his wealth away ; 
Uncertain good I ne'er desire, 

Let me be rich to-day. 

The Student emulous of Fame 

Iiooks to the distant prize, 
But mine e'en now an honor'd name 

Acknowledged by the wise, 
The Lover too dreams of delight 

Pis fondness to repay ; 
But ne'er let me the attachment slight 

Which crowns my love to-day. 

And those who time so fruitless spend 

In wishes to reform — 
To-morrow to be good intend, 

But think not to perlbrm ; 
A better purpose shall be mine. 

For danger waits delay, 
But heaven will to-morrow shine 

If virtuous prove to-day. 



STANZAS, 0/r AN IRISHMAN. 

The subject of the following stanzas, was a young m»u 
irom Ireland, who arrived at Baltimore during tho 



STANZAS ON AN IRISH5UN. 63 

prevalence of the Malignant Fever there. He left 
the city oa foot^ a few days after his arrival, and being 
seized with the futdl malady, and deserted by his com- 
panions, died alone by the road side. 

From the green hil]« of Erin a wanderer parted. 

From Ihe gras^p of oppression the Fugitive flew, 

ilis heart (hrobbM with anguish ; the thrilling tear 

started. 
And lie bade his lov'd home and his country adieu. 

For the sons of fair Erin are children of feeling — ^ 
He with hardihood biav'd the keen blasts of the sky, 
While nnfelt on hie cheek the cold rain was congealmg, 
His heart yet glow\l with affections warm sigh. 

Oh ! how did he feel when he parted forever 
From tlie cot of his father, tlie wood and the glen. 
And iiow did lie feel when he sighing said '* never 
This valley shuli ring with my wild harp again.'* 

Oh I how did he feel when his lister clung to him, 
Entreittitig With tears her dear P,Urick to stay, 
His feelings^ were keen — but tfiey could not yubdue l.im, 
And he hied to the land of fair freedom away. 

lie saw the blue hills with mingled emotion, 
Of jov and regret, seem to sink in the sea, 
As swiftly he sailed o'er the far spreuduig ocean. 
And exultingly said in his heart, ''' Viu free." 

But scarce had he quitted the high swelling billow, 
When the monster Disease marked him out for his prey ; 
And a <'oid sod of earth was ihe wanderer's pillow^ 
Unattended he died — not a hand closed his eye. 

They made him a grave by the woodland seqtiestei'd, 
Where no tears of affection -hal! soften the sod, 
l?iit there m^y hip a-hes repose umrolested, 
Aiid his soui dweii in ji^y. aud in ptaoe with his God- 
D 5 



64 STANZAS BY A LADY. 

STANZAS BY A LADY. 

The following stanzas were written by a lacl j a few days 
before her death. With the inspiration of fancy and 
feelins:, they unite the eloquence of truth, and 
breathe a raagnaniraity of soul worthy of a better 
fortune, — JV. Y. Statesman. 

1 SAID to Sorrow''E peltins; storm 

That beat against my breast. 
Rage on I — thou inay'st destroy (his form. 

And lay it low at rest : 
But still the spnit that now brooks 

Thv tempest raging high, 

Undaunted on its fury looks 

With steadfast eye. 

1 said to Penury's meagre train 
Advance ! — your threats I brave : 

My la&t poor life drop ye may drain, 
And crush me to (he urave : 

Yet s'ill the spirit (hat endures 
Shall mock your force the while. 

And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours 
With bitter smile. 

I said to proud Neglect and Scorn, 

Pass on I — 1 heed you not ; 
Though thus unfriended and forlorn, 
^ By you I am forgot : 
My spirit which untamVl and free. 

No scoff? of yours aimoy, 
Draws from its own nobility 
It3 high born joy. 

I said to FricrHlship"'s menac'd bfo^. 
Strike deep I — my heart shall bear ; 

Thou canst but add one bitter woe 
To those already there : 

Yet still the spirit that sustains 
This last ^cvQie dietrers. 



WHISKEY. %b 



Shall smile upon its keenest pains, 
And scorn redress. 

I said to Death*s uplifted dart. 

Aim sure I — Oh why delay ; 
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart, 

A weak, reluctant prey ; 
For still this spirit, firm and free, 

Triumphant o'er dismay, 
Brij^ht in its own eternity, 

Shall pass away. 



WHISKEY. 

What's that which drains the poor mau'a purse, 
JNIakes his concerns grow werse and worse, 
And is to all u direful curse ? 

'Tis Whiskey. 

What's that which makes the rich man fear, 
That poverty and want are near, 
And mis'ry lingering in their rear ? 

'Tis Whiskey. 

What's that which murders health and ease, 
And brings by slow but sure degrees 
Pale melancholy and disease ? 

'Tis Whiskey. 

What's that which like a Siroc wind, 
Or like some diabolic fiend, 
Withers the powers of the mind ? 

'Tis Whiskey, 

What's that which for a moments' gladness, 
Turns sense and rea-son into madness, 
Aiid leaves the mind a prey to sadness ? 

»Tis Whiskey- 



© FAREWELL TO MY HOME. 

WhaCs that which nerve<? the murdVer's hand, 

Or guides the incendiary's brand 

'J'o deeds of horror through the land ? 

'Tis Whiskey. 

AVhat's that whose baleful influence throws 

Aaiong mankind a thousand woes 

And makes of friends and kindred foes ? 

'Tis Whiskey. 

What's that of ail the evils worst 
Which from Pandora' i basket burst, 
Or e'er a raca of beings curst? 

'Tis W^hiskey. 

Oh ! poverty, disgrace and woe. 
And all the ills which from you flow, 
lour parentage full well 1 know 

is Whiskey. 



FAREWELL TO MY HOME, 

AdieV, my native laud, adieu I 
'J he vessel spreads her swelling sails, 
Perhaps i never more may view 
Your fertile fields, your flowery dales. 

Delusive hope can charm no more ; 
Far from my native land I roam, 
Unfriended, seek some distant shore, 
And leave my lovM, my peaceful home. 

Farewell, dear village, oh, farewell ; 
'ooft on the gale thy murmur dies, 
1 hear thy solemn evening bell, 
'J'hy spires yet greet my aching eyes. 

Though frequent falls the trickling tear, 
I scorn to shrink from fates decree, 



THE SOLITAIIIE. 6?! 

5Ior winds, Dor wavfes, nor fale I fear, 
I onlj breathe a sigh for thee. 

In vain through seas of sparkh'ng foam, 
Min« eyes thy rocky coast explore ; 
To unknown '^ seas and climes" t rosrao, 
To view thy beauteous scenes no more. 

And yet perhaps some future day, 
May place me on thy happy strand, 
When tir'd with fortune's devious way, 
I seek again my native land. 



THE SOLITAIRE. 

Sadness sat on bis brow — and dark despair 
In gloomy silence ever hover'd there ; — 
Pale was his cheek — downcast his piercing eye — • 
Like one who broods o'er future destiny. 

The greedy worm of care, withjn his breast, 
Prey'd on his vitals and disttirb'd his rest — 
A wild'ring loneliness was o'er him — deep 
As darkness of the tomb where millions sleep , 

Yet 'twas not always thus I — I knew him when 
His heart was light, and care unknown — and then 
Ah ! little thought I such a change would be — 
Pleasure and mirth for wo and misery. 

In younger days he lov'd — but, sad to tell, 
Disease consumed the one he lov'd so well— 
The rosy cheek of health, and angel form, 
Became a banquet for the greedy worm. 

He saw her fade — and when triumphant death 
Had itopp'd her pulse, and snatchM her fleeting 
breath, 



68 THINGS 1 DO NOT KNOW AND HAVE NOT KNOWN. 

Far from the haunts of infancy and strife, 
He led a lonely, solitary life ! 

But soon he'll slumber in the clay-cold grave — 
And soon the cypress o'er his tomb shall wave — 
Yet none will weep for him I but night's damp dews 
Shall o'er his grave their melting tears diffuse. 



THINGS I DO NOT KNOW AND HAVE 
NOT KNOWN, 

A MARRIED man I do not know, 

Who's free from noise or strife ; 
A single man I do not know, 

Who would not have a wife, 

A woman I have never known, 

Who would not married be ; 
A woman I have never known, 

Who married, and was free. 

I never knew an aged man, 

Who truly wished to die ; 
I never knew a youthful man. 

Who never breathed a sigh. 

I never knew an idle man. 

Whom Satan could not hire ; 
I never knew a trading man. 

Who never prov'd a liar. 

I never knew a witty man, 

Who wealthy ever was ; 
I never knew a simple man 

But meddled with the laws^ 

I never knew a singing mac. 
Who did not relish wine ; 



THiE FEMALE AUCTIONEER — CONTENTMENT* ^9 



I never knew a rhyming man, 
Who ne'er went out to dine. 



A homelj maid I never knew, 
Who so herself believed ; 

A handsome maid I never knew, 
Who could not be deceived. 



THE FEMALE AUCTIONEER, 

** Who'll buy a heart ?'' sweet Harriet cries — 
Harriet the blooming and the fair — 

Whose lovely form and dove-like eyes. 
Can banish grief and soothe despair — 

*' Come bid ; my heart is up for sale ; 

Will no one bid ? pray sir consider, 
'Tis sound and kind, and fond, and hale, 

And a great bargain to the bidder." 

i'll hid," says Gripus- — " I will pay 
A thousand eagles promptly told ;" 

^' That is no bid sir, let me say — 

A faithful hearfs not bought tcith goldy 

" I'll bid with marriage faith, and plight 

A heart," says Frank, *' with love o'erflowing,' 

*' Aye ! thafs a hid thaPs something likt-^ 
And novj my heart is — going — going." 



CONTENTMENT. 

Why should we our lot jepine, 

Or grieve at our distress ? 
Some think if they should ricfies gain, 

They'd gain true happiness. 



70 CONTENTBIINT. 

Alas ! kow vain is all their gain, 

Since life must soon decay ; 
And since we're here, like friends so dear, 

Let^s drive dull care away. 

Why should the rich despise the poor ? 

Why should the poor repine ? 
A little time will make us all, 

In equal friendship join ; 
We're much to blame, we*re all the same, 

Alike we're made of clay ; 

Chorus. — And since we're here, &;c. 

The only circumstance in life, 

That ever I could find ; 
To soften care, and tire mirth. 

Is sweet content of mind ; 
With such a store, we have much more, 

Than e'er we can convey ; 

Chorus. — And since we're here, &c. 

Let's make the most we can of life, 

Nor tender it a curse ! 
But take it as you would a wife, 

For better or for worse ; 
Life at the best, is but a jest, 

A dreary Winter's day ; 
Chorus. — And since wt're here, &c. 

When age, old creeping age come on. 
And we are young no rpore ;, 

Let's not repine at what we've done, 
Nor grifcve that youth is o'er ; 

But cheerfully, as formerly. 
Be innocently gay ; 

C/ior«*.— And since we're here, &c^ 



THE HUMBLE WISH — LE4NDER AND HEROINE. 71 

THE HUMBLE WISH.— By T. Moore. 

1 KNEW bjr the smoke (hat so gracefully curl'd 
Abcvfc the green elms, that a cottage was near, 

And I said, " If there's peace to be found in the world, 
A heart that wes humble might hope for it here i" 

It was noon, and on flowers that languished around 

fn silence repos'd the voluptuous bee ; 
Every leaf was at rest, and 1 heard not a sound 

But the black-bird pecking the hollow beech tree. 

And ♦' here in this lone little wood," I exclaira'd, 
" With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, 

Who would blush when I prais'd her and weep when I 
blam'd, 
How blest could I live, and how calm could I die ! 

By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips 
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, 

And to know that I sigh'd opon innocent lips, 
Which had never been sigh'd on by any but mine I" 



LEANDER AND HEROINE. 

LEANiTiER on the bay 
Of Hellespont all doubtful stood, 

Impatient of delay, 
He leap'd into the fatal flood. 
The raging eeas, which none can please, 

'Gainst him their malice shew ; 
The heavens lowr'd, the rain down pour'd, 
And loud the winds did blow. 

Then casting round his eyes. 
Thus of his fate he did complain, 

** Ye cruel rocks and skies. 
Ye stormy winds and raging main. 



72 LEANDER AND HEROlNE.^ 

What 'tis to miss, a lover's bliss, 

Alas you do not know, 
Make me your wrack, as I come back, 

But spare me as I go. 

Lo yonder stands the tow'r, 

Where my belov'd Heroine lies. 

And this, th' appointed hour ; 

She sits to watch with longing eyes." 

To his fond suit, the gods were mute, 

The billows answered no, 

Up to the skies, the surges rise, 

But sink the youth as low. 

Meanwhile the sighing maid, 
Divided betwixt fear and love. 
Now does his stay upbraid, 
Now dreads he should the passage prove, 
*' But fate," said she, '•* not heav'n nor thee 

Shall ere our vows divide ; 
rd leap this wall, could I but fall, 
By my Leander's side." 

Although the raging sun 
Did to her sight reveal too late, 

That Hero was imdone ; 
Not by Leander's fault, but fate, 
(Said she) *' I'll shew, though we are two, 

Our vows were ever one, 
This proof I'll give, I will not live, 
I^or shall he die alone." 

Then from the wall she leap'd 
Into the raging seas to him, 

Counting each wave she met 
To leach her wearied arm to swim. 
The sea-gods wept, nor longer kept, 

Her from her lover's side ; 
Then join'd at last, she grasp'd him fast^ 
And sigh'd embrac'd and died. 



RELIGION. 73 



RELIGIOK-^By C. W. Martiw. 

Eeligion is a fheme 

Which doth thousands employ ; 
While millions count it but a dream. 

And happiness a toy. 

True happiness is found 

In Christ, God's only Son ; 
To saints he speaks the joyful sound^ 

And sa?es the meanest one. 



The saints are his delight. 
He hath them in his care ; 

He puts the sons of hell to flight, 
And breaks the fowler's snare. 



If his dear children sin, 

By straying from the fold, 
When they returii, he takes them in, 

With joys which are untold. 

If in destruction's road 

They wilfully remain. 
Their guilt will prove an awful load,] 

To sink them down to pain. 

Therefore^ yfe christiatis, pray. 
And likewise learn to watch ; 

If you would practice what you say, 
You must nol say too much. 

Hence, let your words be few. 
With grace season'd with salt ; 

Be inoffensive, pure, and true, 
And ne'er be in the fault. 



CORYDON AND CAROLINE. 

CORYDOjY and CAROLINE. 

What sorrowful sound do I hear, 

Move slowly along in the gale ? 
How solemnly follow mine ear. 

As softly they pass through the vale. 
Sweet Corydon's notes are all o'er ; 

Now silent he sleeps in the clay ; 
Hi? cheeks bloom with roses no more, 

Since death cali'd his spirit away. 

Sweet woodbines shall rise round his tomb, 

And willows there sorrowing wave, 
^onng hyacinths fresh in their bloom ; 

While hawthorns encircle his grave : 
Each morn, when the sun gilds the east, 

The green grass bespangled with dew, 
Shall cast its bright beams to the west. 

To charm the sad Caroline's" view. 

Oh ! Corydon hear the sad cries 

Of Caroline, plaintive and slow ;; 
Oh, Spirit I look down from the skiea 

And pity the mourner below. 
'Tis Corydon's voice in the breeze 

Which Philomel hears on the plain, 
Still striving, the mourner to please. 

With sympathy join in the strain. 

And when the still night has unfurled 

Her robes over the hamlet around. 
Grey twilight retires from the world, 

And darkness encumbers the ground ; 
I'll leave my long gloomy abode ; 

To Corydon's urn 1 will fiy, 
Tliere kneeling will bless the just God, 

Who rules in bright mansions on high. 

Ye shepherds so blithesome and young, 
Retire tfom your sports on \ht green, 



VERSES, ADBRE5SED TO LADT MONTAGUE. T5 

Since Corydon's deaf to my sonp. 
The wolf staves the lamb on the plain ; 

The s'vain round the forest shall stray, 
And sorrowing hang down his head, 

His pipes then iu sympathy play 
Some dirge to young Corydon''s shade. 

Since Corydon hears me no more, 

In gloom let the woodbines appear ; 
Ye ocean's be still of your roar, 

Let autumn extend round the year. 
I'll hie me through meadows and lawn;. 

There cull the sweet flowers of May, 
Then rise c^ the wings of the morn, 

And w&h my young spirit away ! 



VERSES, 

Addressed to Lady M. TV, Montague. — By Alex. Pope, 

Is beauty or wit. 

No mortal as yet 
To question your empire has dar'd ; 

But men of discerning, 

Have thought that in learning, 
To yield to a lady was hard. 

Impertinent schools, 

"With musty dull rules, 
Have reading to females deny'd ^ 

So Papists refuse 

The Bible to use, 
Lest flocks should be wise as their guide;, 

'Twas a woman at first 
(Indeed she was curst) 
In knowledge that tasted delight ; 
And sages agree. 



76 stanzas: to the Lilly. 

The lawB should decree, 
To the first possessor the right. 

Then bravely fair dame, 

Renew the old claim. 
Which to your whole sex does belong, 

And let men receive 

From a second bright Eve, 
The knowledge of right and of wrong. 

But if the first Kve 

Hard doom did receive, 
When only an apple had she ; 

What punishment new 

Shall be found out for you, 
Who tasting have robb'd the whole tree 



From the *,* Romance of the Forest." 
SOJ^J^ET: TO THE LILLY, 

Sung by Adeline^ previous to the Marquis de Montalff 
becoming attached to her, 

SorT silken flower ! that in the dewy vale 
Unfolds thy modest beauties fo the morn. 

And breath'st thy fragrance on her wand'ring gale, 
O'tr earth's green hills and shadowy vallies bourne. 

When day has closM his dazzled eye, 

And dying gales sink soft away ; 
Where eve steals down the western sky. 

And mountains, woods and vales decay* 



Thy tender cups, that graceful swell, 
Droops sad beneath her chilly dues ; 

Thy odours seek thy silken cell, 
Veils thy languid hues. 



AIR : SUNG BT CLARA.— THE VIOLET. 77 

But soon, poor flow'r the morn shall rise, 

And rear again thy pensive head ; 
Again unveil thy snowy dyes, 

Again thy velvet fohage spread. 

Sweet child of Spring ! like thee, in sorrow's shade, 
Full oft I mourn in tears and droop forlorn ; 

And oh I like thine may light my gloom pervade, 
And sorrows fly before joys' living morn I 



From the same. 
AIR : Sung by Clara^ after their several marriages. 
Now at moonlight's fairy hour. 

When faintly gleams each dewy steep ; 
And vale and mountain, lake and oow'r, 
In solitary grandeur sleep. 

When slowly sinks the evening breeze. 
That lulls the mind in pensive care, 

And fancy loftier visions sees. 
Bid musick wake the silent air. 

Bid the merry merry tabor sound. 
And with the fays of lawn or glade , 

In tripping circle beat the ground 
Under the high tree's trembling shade. 

" Now at moonlight's fairy hour," 
Shall music breathe her dulcet voice, 

And o'er the waves, with magick pow'r, 
Call OQ the echo to rejoice. 



From the " Retreat.*' 
SOJVG: THE FIOLET.-^Sung by Dr. Balfour. 
" An !" Julia exclaimed, " what a beautiful flow'r I" 
As a violet she cull'd from it3 modest retreat ; 

E 3 



78 SERENADE, 

*• Say, Henry, what artist possesses (he powV, 
Such colours to blend in a union so sweet ?^^ 

Dear girl ! this sweet concord, by wisdom's great plan, 
Our feelings unite, as in nature we see ; 

And happy, my Julia, most happy the man, 

Who fateful receives that sweet flow'ret from thee I 

For emblem of happiness see in that blue ; 

See affection's warm tint in that red sweetly glows ' 
Ah, in us shall those feelings be blended as true, 

^s the red and the blue in the violet that blows ! 



From the ** Pirate,'* by the author of Waverly. 
SERENADE, 

Love wakes and weeps 

While Beauty sleeps ! 
O for music's softest numbers. 

To prompt a theme, 

For Beauty's dream, 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers 

** Through groves of palm 

Sigh gales of balm. 
Fire flies on the air are wheeling ; 

While through the gloom 

Comes soft perfume, 
The distant beds of flowers revealing. 

" O wake and live, 

No dream can give 
A shadowed bliss, the real excelling ; 

No longer sleep. 

From lattice peep, 
And list the tale that Love is telling.'' 



MEMORY. 79 

MEMORY. 

On memory, when thy glance h cast 

Upon the track of buried years, 
Bewailing joys that long have passed, 

And left this world — a world of tears ; 
Why dost thou vainly 5inger still 

O^er life's decayed and blighted flower*, 
When the lone heart has lost the thrill 

That was so sweet in earlier hours ? 

There is a vast and wide domain — 

The fost — the dead, confess thy sway. 
And pass before the mind again. 

In hues which death hath stole away — 
Again th« smile is beaming bright 

As first it beamed when life was young— 
Again their voices breathe delight. 

As in departed hours they sung ! 

Again we gaze upon the face 

Whose death has brooded in his cloud — 
Again, again our arms embrace 

Those forms which Hioulder in the shroud ] 
Away — 'tis all ideal bliss, 

A feverish phantom of the mind — 
7'he fond embrace — the smile — the kiss, 

I'ass onward as the idle wind. 



But yei '(is anguish to awake. 

And feel that thou arl bitt a dream ; 
Anguish like his who ne'er could slake 

His thirst within the mocking stream. 
Yes — yes, it wrings the widowed breast. 

With throes of keenest agony. 
To paint the joys it once possessed. 

Which died like meteors on the sea ; 

K 4 



§0 loyer's, when. 

Which died — while in their glorious prime. 

And in the fieshn«9s of their spring — 
When o'ef the wintry brow of time 

The bird of promise droops her wing ; 
Oh where is that Lethean wave 

Which drowned each sorrow — each despair ? 
Behold the calm — the peaceful grave — 

Its secret springs are flowing there ! 



LOVERS, WHEJY/ 

When should lovers breathe thei r vows ? 

When should ladies hear them ? 
When the dew is on the boughs, 

When none else are near them ; 
When the moon shines cold and pale, 

When the birds are sleeping, 
When no voice is on the gale, 

When the rose is weeping ; 
When the stars are bright on high, 

Like hope in young Love's dreaming, 
And glancing round the light clouds fly, 

Like soft tears to shade their beaming . 
The fairest smiles are those that live 

On the brow by starlight wreathing ; 
And their lips the richest incense give 

When the sighs are at midnight breathing, 
Oh, softest is the oh eek's love-ray 

When seen by moonlight's hours : 
Other roses seek the day, 

But blujhes are night flowers. 
Oh, when the moon are stars are bright. 

When the dew-drops glisten. 
Then their vows should lovers plight. 

Then should ladies listen. 



NEW-ENGLAND. Ul 

NEW ENGLAND. 

BY DR. J. C. PERCIVAL. 

flail to the land whereon we tread, 

Our fondest boast ; 
The sepulchre of mighty dead, 
The tniebl hearts that ever bled, 
Who sleep on glory's brightest bed, 

A fearless host ; 
No slave is here — our unchaiti*d feet 
Walk freely as the waves that beat 

Our coast. 

Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave 

To seek this shore : 
They left behind the coward slave 
I'o welter in his living grave r 
With hearts unbent, high, steady, brave, 

They sternly bore 
Such toils as meaner souls had quell'd ; 
But souls like these, iuch toils impell'd 

To soar. 

Hail to the morn, when tlrst Xhej stood 

On Bunker's height ; 
And fearless steumi\i the invading flood, 
And 'ivrote our dearest rights in blood. 
And mow'd in ranks the feireling broody 

In desperate fight : 
OI 'twas a proud exulting day. 
For ev^n our fallen fortunes lav 

In light. 

There is no other land like thee, 

No dearer shore ; 
Thou art the shelter of the free ; 
The home, the port of liberty 
Thou hast been, and shalt tver ije, 
Tit! time is o"cr. 
V. h 



8!i MY HEART WAS A MIRROR. 

Ere I forget (o think upon 
My land, shall mother curse the son 
She bore. 

Thou art the firm, unshaken rock, 

On which we rest ; ' 
And rising from thy hardy stock. 
Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock, 
And slavery's galling chains unlock, 

And free the oppressM : 
All who the wreath of freedom twine, 
Beneath thp shadorfr of their vine, 

Are blest. 

We love thy rude and rocky shore, 

And here we stand — 
Let foreign navies hasti n o'er, 
And on our heads their fury pour. 
And peal their cannon's loudest roar, 

And storm our land : 
They still shall find our lives nre giv'n 
To die for home ; and leant on heaven 

Our hand. 



MY HEART WAS A MIRROR. 
Br J. C. Percival. 

My heart was a mirror, that show'd every treasure 

Of beauty and loveliness that life can display ; 
It reflected each beautiful blossom of pleasure. 

But turn'd from the dark looks of bigots away ; 
It was living and moving with loveliest creatures : 

In smiles or in tears as the soft spirit chose ; 
Now shining with brightest and ruddiest features, 

Now pale as the snow of the dwarf mountain rose. 
These visions of sweetness forever were playing. 

Like butterflies fanning the still summer air ; 



LOVE, 8S 

Some sporting a moment, sorae never decaying 
In deep lines of love are still lingering: there : 
At limes some fair spirit descending from heaven, 

Would shroud all the rest in the blaze of its light : 
Then wood nymphs and lays o'er the mirror were 
driven, 
Like the fire swarms that kindle the darkness of 
night. 
But the winds and the storms broke the mirror and 
severed 
Full many a beautiful angel in (wain ; 
And the tempest rag'd on, till the fragments were 
shiver 'd 
And scattered, like dust as it rolls o'er the plain. 
One piece, which the storm in its madness neglected, 

Away on the wings of the whirlwind to bear, 
©ne fragment was left, and that fragment reflected. 
All the beauty that mart threw carelessly there. 



LOFE. —Br the same« 

Thy charms are all decaying, Love, 
The smile that once was playing, Love^ 

So pure and bright 

It seem\i but light 
From day's clear fountaia straying, Love. 

That smile away is stealing, Love, 
Thy lip no more revenging, Luve, - 

The sweets of soul 

That Cupid stole 
To Sll his cup of feeling, Love. 

Tha? lip will shed its sweetness, Love, 
Thy form will lose it^ Heetness, Love, 

Array'd no more 

As when it wore 
Tho ?nowy veil of nt^-^tn^?'^. Love. 



THE PIRATE LOVER. 

Oh ! time is stealing by us, Love, 
And age is drawing nigh us, love, 

So let me sip 

Thy dewy lip 
Before the young hours fly us, Love. 

The rose of health is blowing. Love, 
The tide of health is flowing, Love, 

Then let me be 

Entwin'd with thee 
As elms and vines are growing, Love, 

A chain of flowere has twin'd us, Lovp, 
And blest the hours shall flad us, Love^ 

Then heart from heart 

No more shall part 
Till age and death unbind us, Love, 



THE PIRATE LOFER—By the same. 

Thou hast gone from thy lover* 

Thou lord of the sea I 
The illusion is over. 

That bound me to thee ; 
I cannot regret thee, 

Though dearest thou wert. 
Nor can I forget thee, 

Thou lord of my heart ! 

I lovM thee too deeply. 

To hate thee and live ; 
1 am blind to the brightest 

My country can give ; 
But I cannot behold thee 

In plunder and gore, 
And thy Mina can Gold theC 

In fondness no more. 



THE INDIAN PHrLOSOrHEH. *6 

Far •ver the billow 

Thy black vessel rides, 
The wave is thy pillow, 

Thy pathway the tides ; • 

Thy cannoa are pointed, 

The red flag on high, 
Thy crew are undaunted. 

But yet thou must die. 
I thought thou wert brave, 

As the sea-kings of old ; 
But thy heart is a slave, 

And a vassal to gold : 
My faith can be plighted 

To none but the free ; 
Thy low heart has blighted 

My fond hopes in thee, 
I will not upbraid thee ; 

I leave thee to bear 
The shame, thou hast made thee; 

Its danger and care : 
As thy banner is streaming. 

Far over the sea, 
O I my fond heart is dreaming, 

And breaking for thee. 
My heart thou hast broken. 

Thou lord of the wave I 
Thou hast left me a token 

To rest in my grave : 
Though false, mean and cruel, 

Thou still must be dear. 
And thy name, like a jewel. 

Be treasur'd up here. 



THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. 
By Isaac Watts, d. d. 
Why should our joys transform to pain ? 
Why gentle Hymen''s silken chaia 



86 THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. 

A plag»e of iron prove ? 
Bendish, His strange the chain that binds 
Millions of hands should leave their mind? 
At such a loose from love. 

In vain I sought the wond'rous cause 
RangM the wide field of Nature's laws. 

And urgM the schools in vain ; 
Then deep in thought, within my breast 
My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd 
A bright instructive scene. 

O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide. 
Oh fancy's airy horse I ride, 

(Sweet rapture of the mind !) 
7 ill on the banks of Ganges flood, 
In a tall ancient grove I stood 

For sacred use design'd 

Hard by, a venerable priest, 

R-is'n with his God, the Sun, from rest. 

Awoke his moraing song ; 
Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream ; 
The birth of souls was all his theme. 

And half divine his tongue. 

*Fe sang th'eternal rolling flame, 
*The vital mass, that still the same 

'Does all our minds compose I 
•But shap'd in twice ten thousand trames 
*Thence diff'ring souls of difF'ring names, 

*And jarring tempers rose. 

*The mighty pow'r that form'd the mind 
'One mould for every two design'd, 

'And bless the new-born pair ; 
'■This be a match for this ; (he said) 
'Then down he sent the souls he made, 

*To seek them bodies here : 



FEW HAPPY MATCHES. 87 



* But parting from their warm abode, 
They lost their fellews on the road, 

*And never join'd their hands : 
'Ah ! cruel chance, and crossing fates ! 
'Our Eastern souls have dropt their mates, 

*On Europe's barbarous lands. 

'Happy the youth that finds the bride, 
'Whose birth is to his own ally'd, 

*The sweetest joy of life : 
*But, oh ! the crowds of wretched souls, 
*Fetter'd to minds of different moulds, 

'And chain'd t' eternal strife I" 

Thus sang the wond'rous Indian bafd ; 
My soul with vast attention h«ard. 

While Ganges ceas'd to flow ; 
" Sure then I cry'd, might I but see, 
That gentle nymph that twinn'd with me, 

I may be happy too. 

Some courteous angel, tell me where. 
What distant lands, this unknown fair. 

Or distant seas detain ? 
Swift as the wheel of nature rolls 
I'd fly, to meet, and mmgle souls, 

And wear the joyful chain.'* 



FE W HAPPY MA TCHES, 

BY THE SAM£. 

Sat, mighty love, and teach my song, 
To whom my sweetest joys belong, 

And who the happy pairs, 
Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, 
Find blessings twisted with their bands, 

To soften all their cares. 



FEW flAPPY M ITCHES. 

Not the wild herd of nymphs and^wains, 
That thoughtless fly into the chains, 

4s custom leads the way : 
If there be bliss without de&ign, 
Iviee and oaks may grow and twine, 

And be as blest as they. 

Not sordid souls of earthly mould 
Who drawn by kindred charms of gold 

To dull embraces move : 
So tw» rich mountains of Peru 
May ru^h to wealthy marriage too, 

And make a world of love. 

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires 
With wanton flames : those raging firea 

Th*» purer bliss destroy : 
On iEtna^s <op let Furies wed, 
And sheets of lightening dress the bed 

T' improve the burning joy. 

Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms 
None of the melting passions warms, 

Can aiingle hearts and hands : 
togs of green wood that quench the coals, 
Are married just like Stoic souls, 

With osiers for their bands. 

Not minds of melancholy strain. 
Still silent, or that stiil complain, 

Can the dear bondage bless : 
As well may heavenly concerts spring 
From two old lutes, with ne'er a string. 

Or none beside the bass. 

Nor can the soft enchantments holii 
Two jarring souls of angry mould, 

The rugged and the keen. 
iSaropson's young foxes might as well 



AGAINST TEARS. ^9 

In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell, 
With fire-brands ty'd between. 

Nor let the cruel fetters bind 
A gentle to a savage mind ; 

For love abhors the sight ; 
Loose the fierce tyger from the deer, 
For native rage and native fear 

Rise and forbid delight. 

Two kindest souls alone must meet, 
'Tie friendship makes the bondage sweety 

And feeds their mutual loves ; 
Bright Venus on her rolling throne 
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone. 

And Cupid's yoke the doves. 



AGAINST TEARST.-^By thb same. 

Ma>A]>z, persuade me tears are good 
To wash our moral cares away ; 
These eyes shall weep a sudden flood, 
And stream into a briny sea. 

Or if these orbs are hard and dry, 
(These orbs (hat never use to rain) 
Some star direct me where to buy 
One sovereign drop for all my pain. 

Were both the golden Indies mine. 
I'd give both Indies for a tear ; 
I'd barter all but what's divine ; 
Nor shall I think the bargain dear. 

But tears, alas ? are trifling things. 
They rather feed than heel our woe ; 
From trickling eyes new sorrow springs, 
As weeds in rainy seasons grow. 



90 THE COMPLAINT. 

Thus weeping urges weeping on ; 
lo vain our miserifcs hope relief. 
For one drop calls another down, 
■Till we are drownM in seas of grief. 

Then let these useless streams be staid, 
Wear native courage on your face ; 
These vulgar things were never made 
For souls of a superior race. 

If 'tis a rugged path you go, 
And thousand foes your steps surround, 
Tread the thorns down, charge thro' the foe. 
The hardest fight i» highest orown'd. 



THE COMPLAIMT.^By the same. 

'TwAs in a vale where osiers grow 
By murmuring streams we told our woe, 

And mingled all our cares ; 
Friendship sat pleas'd in both our eyes, 
In both the weeping dews arise, 

And drop alternate tears. 

The vigorous monarch of the day, 
Now mounting half his morning way. 

Shone with a fainter bright ; 
Still sick'ning, and decaying still, 
Dimly he wander'd up the hill, 

With his expiring light. 

In dark eclipse his chariot rolPd, 
The queen of night obscur'd his gold 

Behind her sable wheels ; 
JHature grew sad to loose the day, 
The flow'ry vales in mourning lay. 

In mourning stood the bills. 



FRIENDSHIP. 91 

Such are sorrows, Clark, I cry'd, 
Clouds of the brain grow black, and hide 

Our darkened souls behind ; 
In the young morning of our years 
Distenapeiing fogs have climbed the spheree^ 

And chock the lab'ring mind. 

Lo, the gay planet rears his head, 
And overlooks the lofty shade, 

New-brighfning all the skies ; 
But say, dear partner of my moan. 
When will our long eclipse be gone, 

Or when our suns arise ? 

In vain are potent herbs apply 'd 
Harmonious sounds in vain have try'd 

To make the darkness fly : 
But drugs would raise the dead as soon, 
Or clatt'ring brass relieve the moon , 

When fainting in the sky. 

Some friendly spirit from above, 
Born of the light and nurst with love, 

Assist our feebler fires ; 
Force these invading glooms away ; 
Souls should be seen quite thro' their clay*, 

Bright as your heavenly choirs. 

But if the fogs must damp the flame. 
Gently, kind death, dissolve our frame, 

Release the prisoner mind ; 
Our souls shall mount at thy discharge, 
To their bright source, and shine at large 

Nor clouded nor confin'd. 



FRIEJsTDSHIP.—By the same. 

Friendship, thou charmer of the mind, 
Thou sweet deluding ill, 

F 1 



»2 DEATH OF TECUMPEH. 

The btighfest minute mortals find, 
And sharpest hour we feel. 

Fate has divided al) our shares 
Of pleasure and of pain : 

In love the cowifnrts and the cares 
Are mixM and join'd again. 

But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls. 
And drops of joy are few, 

This dear delight of niin£;)ing souls 
Serves but to swell our woe. 

Oh ! why should bliss depart in haste. 
And friendship stay to moan ? 

Why the fond passion cling so fast, 
^Vhen every joy is gone ! 

Yet never let our hearts divide, 
Nor death dissolve the chain : 

For love and joy were once ally'd, 
And must bejoin'd again. 



DEATH OF TECUMSEH.—\ Parody. 

The war song rang true, for the savage brow low'r'd, 
And Ihe centinel red-man lay watching tlip. t^ky ; 

The runners had sunk on the ground overpow'r"'d, 
Too weary to live and too angry to die. 

Tfcunicth that night with no pallet of straw, 

Bv the (rng.d light faggot, that smok'd en the plain, 

At^i? niid watch of niii;ht, a stern vision he saw 
Thdt the Gr«=al Spirit sent to warm him again ; 

F r hi« thouirhts on the bat«'e field's dreadful array- 
Were fixM, and he dreaded the white menu's attack ; 

F ir h ' <ea!"'(l (he next sun would light his last day. 
So chaunted his deatlj song as he lay on his back. 



moore's farewell to pus harp. CS 

He thonght on the hunting; grounds, painted so oft 
By his sire, who taught hiuQ the rude creed vrhen 
30ung, 

That good Indians' souls, when admitted aloft. 

Would follow their g inie where no nettles e'er stung. 

Then seiz'd he his war-clnh, and risins: he swore, 

Frooi the field, or his friends, but vvtih lile would he 
part — 

His wild eye meets the f<>e, as onward they pour, 
Aad danger with courage nerves proudlj' his heart. 

Stay, stay with thy nation, thou art weary and worn. 
And fain was the war-broken Indian to go; 

For des-pair had rose with the dawning of morn, 
And the closiflg of day saw Tecumseh laid low. 



MOORE'S FAREWELL TO HIS HARP. 

Dear Harp of my country in darkness I lound thee, 
The culd chain of silence h^d hung o'er thee loii^, 
When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound the?, 
And gave all thy chords to light, irtedom and song. 
The warm lay of love and the light note o( gladness, 
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy iiveliest thrill ; 
But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, 
That e'en \u thy mirth it will s-teal from me still. 
Dear harp of my country I fHrewell to thy numbers. 
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall lwiav\ 
Go — sleep with the sunrhrne of fame on thy slumbers, 
Till toucli'd by somi hhU(\ ie^s unvvorthy than mine. 
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier or h>ver, 
Have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ! 
It was ]ii;;lit as the wind passing heedlessly over. 
And all tke wild sweetness I waked was liiy own I 
F 2 



94 THE COOiKNEY. 

THE COCKNEY, 

•' Maggots indeed may come to Jlies, 
But never can to oxen r2.se." 

A Cockney once, who wish'd to know, 
AskVl — *•' From what source do oxen grow 
Was told that beef set in the ground. 
Would wKfi youDg oxen soon abound. 
The Cit believed — took it for granted, 
Nor slept until some beef was planted. 
When this heM done, with joyful heart, 
Unto his wife did thus impart : 
" My dear — we now need toil no more 
For beef, as 1 shall soon have store ; 
I've just been planting in the ground, ■ 
The tiuest beef that can be found, 
We shall no doubt have great increase, 
From planting such a fattened piece ; 
For I have tramp'd the markets through, 
To get a piece I thought would do." 
Next week the Cockney went to vieAv 
His fine old beef changM into new ; 
When none appeared above the ground — 
By turning up the mould he found 
Hundreds of oxen, as he thought, 
I'lanting this beef to life had brought, 
Ah lucky hit for me he cries. 
And to his spouse with speed he hies — 
'' My dear," — says he with anxious look 
The wife with joy the news partook, 
Expecting something great to hear, 
Which he seemed eager to declare ; 
But when the story he related, 
Of rolling oxen, quite inflated, 
The wife bein? York^ soon understood 
That maggots only formed the brood. 
Then with flat fist came smacking round, 
She laid hei husband on the ground ; 



TO M 



Sayina; — *' Of all the fools I «ver k 
Cockneys, I am sure the world outa 



TO M JV. 

Adieu ye tender visions of delight. 
Which flattering kope'? delusive pencil drfr, 
When joys gay dancing chariuM my yoiuhrnl si^lu, 
And wingM by love the rapid moments flevs^ 

And thou too lovely charming youth, fare' • , 
To whom alone ray captive roul is given 
With whom the native artless virtues dwt •, 
Whose soul is spotless as the light of he .*:'\?. 

But driven from thee, and torn from ail I > >v?, 
I go to wind my solitary way ; 
Yet still where'er my lonely footsteps rove, 
My soul can never from my M n stray. 

Ah ! cease ye throbbing tumults in my brea?f. 
And thou too, lively mournful memory cehs ■ -, 
Soon shall my woes in calm quiescence rt .• ^, 
The calm quiescence of eternal peace. 

Wide o'er the tomb where rests my lone> 
When in the silent tomb forever laid, 
The sombrous yew his branching arms shall, spread., 
And moon beams glimmer thro' the sole^""* s!'^''--^ 

Say wilt thou then, by soft compassion led . 
To her who once too fondly held thee dear ; 
Bend o'er my early grave thy drooping head, 
And pay the tribute of a tender tear. 
F 3 



§6 LINES OF COWPER — MISCHIEVOUS TONGUE. 

LAST LINES OF COWPER, 

The following lines are said to be the last that ever 
Cowper wrote. 

To Jesus the crown of my hope. 

My soul is in haste to be gone ; 
Oh I bear me, ye Cherubim, up, 

And waft me away to his throne. 

My Saviour '. whom absent I love. 
Whom, not having seen, 1 adore, 

Whose name is exalted above 
All glory, dominion, and power. 

Dissolve thou the bands that detain 
My soul from her portion in Thee ; 

Oh I strike off the adamant chain, 
And make me eternally free. 

Then, that happy era begins, 

When arr.ny'd in thy glory I shine, 

And DO longer pierce with my sins. 
The bosom on which 1 recline. 



ON THE EVILS OF A MISCHIEVOUS 
TONGUE. 

By T. G. Fessenden, Esa. 

'* Many have fallen by the edge of the sword, but not 
so many as have fallen by the to»gue." 

Eccl. Apoc. xxviii, 8, 

Tho' millions the sword of the warrior has slaughter'd; 

While fame has the homicide's eulogy rung ; 
Yet many more millions on millions are martyr'd — 

Cut off by that cowardly weapon, the tongue 



A NEW VEAr's wish — LOVE AND TIME. 97 

One sword may be match'd by another as keen, 
In hattie the bold mr.n a bolder wtiay meet, 

B'.it t!ie fihaft of (he slanderer, flying nnseen 

From the quiver of nj&lice, brings ruin complete. 

An insclenf tovgxie^ by a taunt or a slhe, 

Enkindles heart-burnings and bloody affrays ; 

A Ireacherous tongue, when i.'nf)elPd by a bribe, 
The guiitless condemns, or a nation betray?. 

A smooth stibfle tongue viie seducers employ 
The fair sex to lure to libidinous thraiJ ; 

A slip of the tongue may its owner destroy. 

And the tongue of the serpent occasion'd the full. 

Then be it irnpre's'd on Cohmibian youth, 
That (he tongue is an engine of terrible force ; 

Sr)\ governed by reason, not guided by truth, 

A plague, which may desolate worlds in iti course. 



.l NEW-YEAR'S WISH. 
One female companion to ^^o/ten my cares. 
Two thousand a year to support my affairs : 
Tkiet dogs and a gur? when to sport I incline. 
Four b'-^rres and chaise to indulge me and mine ; 
Ftrt joily com})?iiiions with whom to make merry, 
Six disfYes each day. witii six glasses of sherry : 
•'crrn beds in my house for my friends and their leisure, 
Eight bofne'.hing or other, to add to tfjeir pleasure : 
JSi'inc pounds iii my pocket, whess cash I require, 
J^en favors are all that on earfh I desire: 
Au<l a passport to heaven when from aarth I retire 



THE VOYAGE OF LOVE A\'D TIME. 

r)KST!>;*'JO '«^'ifh restless foot to roam, 



98 BALLAD : ON WOMEN- 

Reaches a river's brink, and *' Come,'' 
He cries, *' have pity on my a2;e. 

What on those banks forgotteii, I 

Who mark each moment with my glass. 

Hear damjels.hear my suppliant cry. 
And courteously help Time to pass.*" 

Disporting on the further shore, 

full many a gentle nymph look\l on, 
Bade Love, their boatman, fetch the Cron< 

But one of all the group most staid. 

Still warii'd her venlVous mates ; " Ala?, 

How oft has shipwreck whelmM the maid 
Whose pity would help Time to pass." 

Lightly his boat across the stream 

Love guides, his hoary freight receives, 
And fluttering 'mid the sunny gleam, 

His canvass to the breezes gives ; 
And plying light his little oars, 

In treble now and then in bass, 
*' See girls," <he enraptured Urchin roars, 

'• How gaily Love makes Time to pass." 

But soon, 'tis Love's proverbial crime, 

Exhausted he his oars let fall ; 
And soon these oars are seiz'd by Time, 

And heard ye not the rallier's call ? 
" What, tir'd so soon of thy sweet toil ? 

Poor child ! thou sleepest : I, alas I 
In graver strain repeat the while 

My song : 'tis Time makes Lov« to pass.'* 



BALLAD : OK WOM^N, 

While women, like soft Music'o charn/j 
So sweetly bliss dispenses,; 



ballad: on women. 99 

Some favorite part each fair performs, 

In the concert of the senses. 
Love, great first fiddle in the band, 

Each pa.>-sion quells and raises, 
Exploritig with a master's hand, 

INicft oiodiilatious iDazes — 
Till the rapt soul s^upreaiely blest, ' 

Beari)j> briahtly in each feature, 
And Ifueiy woicuan stands confest 

Tiic harmony of nature. • 



Hark I with the pensive in duct, 

The spriglitly horn it mingles ! 
Tlie i'fude"'£ the flute, and tiie Coquet, 

The lively harp that tins;le* I 
One boldly sweep; the leading strings, 

While plaintive '(other prates it ; 
Like Ceasar, Vliis to victory springs, 

Like Fabiiis that awaits it. 
With various giits fo make us blest, 

Love skills each charajing creature ; 
Thr.s lovely woman stands confest, 

Ihe liaruiony of nature. 



Maids are of virginals the type, 

Widows, the growling tyinbal, 
Scolds are the shrill and piercmg pipe, 

Fijrtn are the wiry cymbal. 
^)1 wi\es piano fortt^s are, 

The bass, how old utai<ls thump it, 
The bugle horn are arches lair, 

An Amazon's a ti'umpet. 
ThuiS with rare gifts to Uiake us blest. 

Love skills hia fHV».»rite cr^.aturt, 
And tijus sweet woiiirtH stands coiifest, 

1 he huiaiorv yf nutuic. 



100 BllANDY. 

Fall oft I've press'd thee to my ht • i 
Resolv'd that we should ne\e 
But ah I I find thou'st can-' 

My little niui; '..■- c.-.>yj. 

I found thee once tny only joy. 
A fond companion — dar'iay: toy, 
A welcome guest, and sole emnjoy, 

My little mug of E^^I^.^^ 

There by my side Pve cften laid ; 
Sometimes I plac'd thee near frry head ; 
And often sipp'd thee when in bed — 

My little mug of Brandy. 

How many ?hillmgs had I spent, 

Aye pounds, and still was not conteat., 

Till to the ale-house I had st nt, 

My little mug of Brundy. 

But now I find I can reclaim, 
And by my little mug have lain, 
RcsolvM to never touch again. 

My little mug of Brandy. 

My lovely bride and children they, 
With one accord, now bless the day, 
When I resolv'd to put away, 

My liille mug of Brandy. 

And now, when home 1 go at nisht. 
My partner pnii'e? with ;Tweet d<'lii^ht ; 
Instead of wron?, I fitid all rij^ht, 

Widiout njy litthi uiug of Brandy. 

■ My little cotfii2;e snu^: and neat, 

M^' children cb/ih; d from head to feet, 
My flenses now ^'oih .^wccxly greet, 

Without my mug of Brandy. 



LITTLE THINGS ARE BEST- lOl 

My little cherubs round me cling-, 
My lovely spouse sits down to sing, 
And I am happy as a king, 

Without my mug of Brandy. 

So farewell now, thou little pest. 
Without thee Pm supremely blest ; 
Whene'er I see thee I detest 

Mv little mug of Brandy-. 
TIMOTHY TirrLE, Jr. 



LITTLE THINGS ARE BEST. 

A JED d'ESPRTT. 

Addressed to Miss C , r little, short Lady, 

When any thing abounds, we find 

That nobody will have it, 
But when there's little of the kind, 

Don't all the people crave it ? 

If wives are evil, as 'tis known 

And wofully confess'd. 
The man wko's wise will surely owa 

A little one is best.* 

The god of Love's a little wiglit. 

But beautiful as thought ; 
Thou too art little^ fair as light, 

And ev'ry thing is short ! t 



O, happy girl ! I think thee so. 
For mark the poet's :j: song-— 



*See Jusephus de Uxoribua — a very ancient and seri- 
ous jest. 

t Nulla volupfas longa f st.' Seneca. 
|Urs, Goldsmith and Young. 



102 DEXTEROUS PUNNING— THE OLD BACHELOR.. 

''Man wants but little here below, 
"Nor wants that little long /" 



DEX TERO US P U.^MjXG. 

The following anec<^ote was sent by a youni^ Lady to 
her lover, whose naooe wa% Noft, a few weeks before 
their marriuge. The nuptial knot was tied seen after 
the di&cerning lover decyphered its import. 

Why uree, dear sir, a bashful maid 

To change a single lot ? 
When well you know I've often said, 

In truth, 1 love you, Nott. 

For all your pain, I do, Nott, care, 

And trust nie on my li(e, 
Though you have millions, 1 declare, 

I would, Nott, be your wife. 



THE OLD BACHELOR. 

What CoLibiffEL I still solus ? no wife in the chase? 

Still afraid of the soul chillmg '^^o ?" 
Poor faint hearted soul J how I pity thy case \ 

More timid the older you grow. 

Here are blue eyes and black eyes, the fair and bru- 
nette — 

The grave, the coquette, and the prude ; 
From stately Mel'mda to fidgeting l^et, 

"I know it — / would if I could.'''* 

See Clara — sweet model of femenine grace ! 

How can you behold her unmov'd ; 
A temper more sweet, or a lovtlitr face. 

Might he worshipf''d but could not be lov''d. 



MELANCHOLY. 103 

Will sighing and wishinj;, e'er bring to your arm?, 

A damsel so charming and good ? 
Not a smglc endeavor for so many charms ? 

*DonH teaze me—/ would if I coitW." 

On Maria's blae eye could an anchorite gaze. 

Nor kindle amain at the view-? 
With calmness to glance on so witching a face, 

Was reserv'd for a puppy like yon. 

The rose and the lily bloom bright on her cheek-r- 

Her lips ! how v/ith nectar imbuM ? 
Ton monster of dulness — and why don't you speak? 

'Why hang ye ! — I would if I could.^'^ 

Have Anna's attractions no longer a charm ? 

Or what can have render'd them less ? 
Can sweetness so touching, and goodness so warm, 

Excite not a wish to possess ? 

Your sense of her merit, yon oft have avow'd. 

By heaven you deserve a ratan — 
Go — whine like a school boy, '•'I would if I ctfuld^^ 

^'•God help me /— / will if I can.'>'> ^. 



MELANCHOLY. ~Br R. S. Coffut. 

She dwells by a stream, where the cypress and willow 
Are gem'd with the tears that tall from her eye ; 

The earth is her bed and the flint-stone her pillow, 
Midnight her mantle, her curtain the snow. 

Her cell is a cave, where the bright beam of morning, 
Ne'er pierc'd the chill gloom of its wildering maze, 

Where the sunshine of joy, youth's visage adorning, 
Ne*er warm'd wll^j its fire or cheer'd with its rays- 



104 BOWER. OF PRAYER. 

The moon is her lamp, when the mist mantled mouHtain 
ohe rlHRibers at midnight, and walks o'er its steep ; 

Or leans on the rock of a chrjstaline fountain, 
And sigfis to the tempevt that hovvis o'er the deep. 

Her tresses are dark as the wing; of the raven. 
Her robes are all wet and her bosom is bare ; 

Like a barque on the waves, 'mid the whirlwinds of 
heaven, 
Slie wanders distracted, or sinks in despair. 



BOW EH OF PRAYER.-'By T. Ormsbek. 

To leave my dear friends, and with neighbours to part, 
And move from my home, afflicts not ray heart ; 

Like the thought of absenting myself for a day, 
From the blessed retreat, I have ciiosen to pray. 

Dear Bower! where the pine and poplar have spread, 
Aad woven tht-ir branches, a roof over head ; 

Hovr oft have I knelt on the evergreen there, 

And pour'd out my scul to my Savior in prater I 

The early shrill notes of a lovM nightingale, 

Th:d dweit in the bower, I observ'd as mj bell — 

Tu call me to duty, whih^ birds in the air, 
Sang anthems of. praises a^ I vitnt to prayer. 

How sweet were the zephyr.", perfurn'd by the pine, 
Tiie ivy, the balsam, and wild eglantine ; 

Yft sweeter, O sweeter I superlative were. 
The jovs I there ta.sted in answer to prayer. 

For Jesus, my Saviour, oft deign 'd to meet, 

And grace with his presence, my humble retreat ; 
"^ft fiii'd me with rapiures and blessedness there, 
nuiting iu Ucavtn'.^ ovvn language my pray**r. 



Dear Bower ! I must leave you and bid you adieu, 
And paj my devotions in places that are new ; 

Well knowing my Saviour resides every where. 
And can in all places, give answers to prayer. 



HOPE. 



Hope is a dear enchanting guest, 

That dwells within the human breast ; 

It sends ifs ever cheering rays, 

And leads our minds to happy days. 

'Tis hope affords our evVy joy. 
Gives happiness without alloy, 

Supports the disappointed mind, 
Assuages grief of Q\''iy kind. 

Hope lulls the troubled mind to rest, 
Drives anxious cares from ev'ry brea&t, 

Bids us on future joys depend, 

And m^kes contentment here our friend. 

How oft amid affliction's gloom, 

We pensive, mourn our hapless doom, 

Till hope, the best of passions here, 
Is sent, our aching heart to cheer. 

Behold the pious hearted sage. 

Whose locks are silver'd o'er with age, 
Now bending under stern disease. 

While pain and anguish on him seize. 

Say what directs consoling ray. 

And cheers him in life's dreary way ? 

It is a hope of future peace. 

When sorrows shall forever cease. 



DOVE-EYED MODESTY. 

Hope gives his mind a sweet repose, 
And pleasure in perspective shows, 

Lessens his j^rief and trouble here. 
And in his eye dries ev'ry tear. 

Hope is a friend of human kind, 
The health and vie;orofthe mind ; 

Like sumnier^s evening mild and sweet, 
'Tis ever found with joy replete. 



DOVE EYED MODESTY, 

Bx THE MuUJSTAIN MlJMSTREL. 

There's a gem of countless worth. 

Sometimes found upon the earth — 
Would you this fair brilliant see ? 

It is dove-eyed modesty. 

Pure and spotless as thou art. 
Still thou rulest o'er my heart — 

How I prize and worship thee. 
Lovely dove-eyed modesty. 

All (he graces in thee meet, 
Pride is prostrate at thy feet ; 

What thou art she fain would be, 
Lovely dove-eyed modesty. 

How thy graces all divine. 
In retirement mo«t do stiine, 

Thou 'vould'sl from our notice flee, 
Lovely dove-ejed modesty. 

Thon art beauty, thou art worth, 
Fairest gem tjpon the earih; 

I thee ofl'ner fuiu would see, 
Lovely dove-eyed modesty. 



RESENTMENT. 107 



RESEXTMEj\T,-~By the Same. 

And dwell? resentment now within noy breast, 
And can I nourish the tinweloome griest ? 

And can I lodj^e thee in my inrtios^t heart, 
As near as life and quite as loth to part ? 

Art thou an object of mj fond desire, 
Thou child of Sat?»n and offspring' of fire ? 

The worst of placfc>: th^ai f'tr in hell had birth, 
To curse mankind, tvhiie here upoo fhe earth ; 

Ai'i black and lojithso.'ne zs ihy da^^k abode, 

Where thou dost thirtt for vengeance and for blood? 

FeJl passion' no -, I will net giy« thee room, 
Be gene thou Deoigo this is not thy hom-. ; 

'Tis not thy home, ^b4 s^re I ne'er will drive, 
Some kind*.r pass ioh from it^ native hive, 

To give thte roorja ; O thou infeina: fiend, 
I will not e'en one moment be thy friend. 

Thou hast no friend but every man's thy foe, 

And foes thou mak'st where e'er thou chance to go. 

We are not friends, and never sure can be, 
For rn my breast I have no room for thee, > 
Nor shalt thou ever lord it over me. ) 

There is no peace, no comfort and no rest, 
When once thou hast possession of my breast ; 

AH commotion and all love must flee. 

And leave my heart to hatred and to thee. 

1 would not live thus for one single hour. 
Beneath thy rule and thy tyrannic power. 

If I must live 'neath thy tyrannic sway, 

I with the bears and wolves would flee away, 
Or with the owls and bat* would shun the light of 
day. ^ 



108 



FREEDOM'S STAJVD^RD.— Br the samk. 

When o'er proud Europe's wide domaiDs, 

Fair freedom glanc'd her eager eyes, 
And saw her blood slain'd crimson plains. 

She strelchM her pinions 'ward the skies — 
But bending down to earth again, 

She saw Columbia's western star, 
And pitying still poor wretched man, 

She cri'd "I'll plant my standard there." 

She hasted 1o the chosen coast, 

With hardy vet'rans for her train, 
Worthy to be bold freedom's boast. 

And eross with her the raging main — 
When on Columbia's shores so wild, 

She cast her eyes round wide and far, 
And as she view'd her forests, smil'd, 

She said, '"-I'll plant my standard there." 

A savage horde — a motley crew, 

With cruel hearts and bloody hands, 
W^ith jealous eyes the pilgrims view, 

And swear to drive them from their lands-— 
Fair Freedom saw her chosen train, 

Nor let their cries be lost in air ; 
She cried "be valiant, fig-ht like men. 

And I will plant my standard there." 

When Europe saw their happy state. 

They sought to forge them galling chains, 
And wreak her malice and her hate, 

On Freedom's sons, on Freedom's plains— 
Sut freedom still will guard her sons, 

And drive her haughty foes afar ; 
The battle fought, the vict'ry won, 

She cried "I'll plant ra.y standard there." 

If to invade fair Freedom's <-hore. 
Some hostile despot even dares ; 



FAREWELL TO MY YOUTH. 109 

Then kt Colnnabia's eade soar, 

And bear the gallant stripes and stars — 

Make all respeot bold Freemen's rights, 
In blissful peace, or bloady war; 

For in your ranks fair Freedom fights, 
And she will plant her standard there. 

Let Freedom'*3 favorites guard with care, 

The boon they have so dearly won ; 
And haughty tyrants ne'er will dare. 

To trample on their rights again : 
Then shall fair Freedom from on high. 

Still make Columbia's sons her care, 
^nd her blest name shall never die, 

She will protect her standard there. 



FAREWELL TO MY YOUTH. 
By B. H. Wilson. 

Farewell to the days •f my youth. 
Which fled with th« speed of a dove ; 

They've left me the vision of truth. 
And taught me true lessons of love. 

Farewell to the smiles she has given, 
The joys I once stole from her arra.x*, 

They've left me a prospect of heaven, 
A shelter from outward alarms. 

The pleasure which then oft arose 
From trifling anuisement and glee, 

And pain that succeeded the close, 
Are now alike useful to me. 

The follies that mark'd my career, 
To the sight of reason's domain, 

May serve when temptations appear, 
To teach the true worth of a name/ 
G 1 



1 10 THE CONNECTICUT.— ODE TO OONTENTMEKT. 

The dawn of that hope I wiil hail, 

Which illumiries tiie path of the brave, 

And shows the true coiiii^e we must sail. 
With peace and content to the grave* 



THE COJ^KECTWUT. 

Wrf.re the Connecticut, through irieadows gceeii, 

'Jofioiv in sable banks, with pleasures seen, 

Where in splendor so great we oft behold, 

O'er cataracts its waters &oy! so hold ; 

'^Behold ! Nature is gracefulJj display'd 

\\\ all meanderings; in dress array^l, 

'i'hou Diighty deep ! can jou with her compare. 

In rnj.jesly so grand, sublimely fair: 

Here jire no terapestf, aofl no surges roll 

To dash the waves o'er cnatiy weary soul. 

See here, the sun, that sfiines with friendly beanas^ 

Observe dancins in the noblest of streams ; 

Huw deligjhtful (he task its banks to tread, 

But On; lit, silence resembles the dead 1 

I've oft observ'd the noble Mohawk run^ 

i'rom the <juwii of day, until set of sun; 

Tve saii'd the liudson, that mighty streanr>, 

in Cabins of crini>>(>n, proj^ell'd by jj<e;ini ; 

B'^t k,f hll ttiey eiiii boast, 1 nought can see, 

CojMNr.CTicur ! that can compare with thee I 



ODE TO COJ^TENTMENT. 

From bi. s. of Petkr Pn5?T.— Tune Indian Phi- 
lusoplu.r, 

II ML, Contentment I delightful guest, 
Deign to enter the human breast, 
And there umahi a while ; 



ALONZO S FAREWELL. 11 

The little I can call my own. 
Is now to thee, Contentnienl ,' shoiv.i, 
And this too, with a smile. 

Long tiuie riches I've sought to gfun, 
But all my <oiis have proved vain, 

For which i have go try^d ; 
Both wealth and power do here combine, 
To make «he heart, render the mind 

Not the least gatisfy'd. 

It is in thee, alone, I find 
Cordials ihat satisfy tlje mind. 

And render it «incere ; 
Oh, banish discontent that serve. 
My tronquil breast and peace to swerve, 

Into horrors of fear. 

O ! deign to bless my present stale, 
O! soothe my mind, not it elate 

With arrogance and pride ; 
Snbdue the trash that vex my sonl, 
Calm all desires both new and old. 

As I, in thee confide. 



ALO.YZO'S FAREWELL. 

Written by the Author of the *\Mourning Orphan^'''' on 
his deparlmg for Boston. 

Farewelt. my friends most dear, we soon are parted, 
Let us be of good cheer, not broken hearted ; 
Though anguish pierce the heart with many a sorro'Y, 
They but increase the smait, who trou-ble borrow. 

My brea&t with friendsliip burns, Oh! swet't emotion '. 
But ah! the pang returns— what dire commotion ! 
Perhaps we meet no more, and this a wnraing, 
Youth, cease thus X^^ deplore ?-^why this repining, 
G 2 



112 BETH 6BLERT. 

The hand of Providence fakes care of mortala, 
And on no vain pretence will ope the portals 
Of vast futurity, for speculation, 
In our security or admiration. 

My knind will oft retrace — oft I shall ponder 
fhe features of each face, tho' far I wander ; 
Yes my beloved friends, these dear reflections 
Will wake within my breast sweet recolIectionB. 

May we direct through life our course with honour, 
Shun envy, wrath and strife, and all dishonour, 
Virtue our walks attend, her garb we borrow. 
And heaven our lives defend from pain. -and sorrow^ 

Should we ne'er meet in time f enjoy the pleasure, 
That flows from thoughts sublime, and friendship** 

treasure ; 
When we sliall quit these fce^es *o transitory. 
May we enjoy Heaven's beams of light and glory. 



BETH GELERT: 

Or, the Grave of tke Greyhound. 

The spearman heard the bugle sound. 
And cheerly smil'd the morn ; 

And many a brach and many a hound 
ObeyM Llewellyn's horn. 

And still he blew a louder blast, 

And gave a lustier cheer, 
*•■ Come Gelert, come, wert ne'er the last 

Llewellyn's horn to hear. 

" Oh where does faithful Gelert roam, 

The floirer of all his race ; 
So true, so brave, a lan)b at home^ 

A lib© in the chase !" 



BETH GELERT. 113 

■■Twas only at Llewellyn''s board 

The faithful Gelert fed : 
He watch'd, he serv'd, he cheer'd his lord, 

And sentinePd his bed. 

In sooth he was a peerless hound, 

The gift of royal John ; 
But now no Gelert could be found, 

And all the chase rode on. 

And now as o'er the rocks and dells. 

The galling chidings rise, 
All Lowdon's craggy chaos yells, 

The many mingled cries. 

That day, Llewellyn little loved, 

The chase of heart or hare. 
And scant and small the booty proved, 

For Gelert was not there. 

Unpleas'd Llewellyn homeward hied ; 

When near the portal seat, 
His truant Gelert he espied, 

Bounding his lord to greet. 

But when he gained the castle door, 

Aghast the chieftain stood ; 
The hound all o'er was smeared with gort, 

His lips, his fangs ran blood. 

Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise, 

Unused such looks to meet. 
His favorite check'd his joyful guise. 

And crouch'd and licked his feet. 

Onward in haste LleweDyn past. 

And on went Gelert too, 
And still where'er his eyes he cast. 
Fresh blood drops shock'd his vi«w- 
a 3 



114 BETH GELERT. 

OV'rturii'd his infant's bed he found, 
With blood stained covert rent. 

And all around the walls and ground, 
With recent blood besprent. 

He called his child — no voice replied ; 

He searched with terror wild : 
Blood, blood, he found on every side, 

But no whrre found his child. 

" Hell-hound, my child by thee's devoured,' 

The frantic father cried, 
And to the hilt his vengeful sword, 

He plunged in Gelert'sliide. 

His suppliant looks, as prone he fell, 

No pity could impart. 
But still bis Gelert's dying jell 

Passed heavy on his heart. 

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, 
Some slumberer wakened nigh. 

What words the parent's joy can lell, 
To hear his infant's cry. 

Concealed beneath a tumbled heap, 
His hurried search had miss'd ; 

All glowing from his rosy sleep, 
The cherub boy he kiss'd. 

Nor wound had he, nor harm nor dread , 

But the same couch beneath. 
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, 

Tremendous still in death. 

Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain i 

For now the truth was clear ; 
Hi? gallant hound the wolf had slain 

To save Llewellyn's heir. 



WHEN THfc: LAST TEAR. I U- 

V"ain, Tain, was nil Lie well jrn's wo : 

*' Best of thy kind, adieu ! 
Tlie frantic blow that laid thee low, 

This heart shall ever rue." 

And now a gallant tomb they raise, 

With costly sculpture deck'd ; 
And marble storied with his praiie, 

Poor Gelerl's bones protect. 

There never could (he spearman pas«, 

Or forester, unmoved ; 
There oft the dew-besprinkled grass 

Llewellyn's sorrow proved. 

And there he hung his horn and spear, 

And there as evening fell, 
In fancy's ear he oft would hear, 

Poor Gelerl's dying yell. 

And lill great Snowdon's rocks grow o30 

And Cease (he storm to brave. 
The consecrated 5pot shall liold, 

The name ol *' Creiert'a G-rave," 



WIIEX THE LAST TEAR. 

WH«iy the last tear of love is shed, 
And the free spirit hastens away, 

^Vhen joy, desire, and hope have ffed, 
And beaufy seeks its couch m clay ; 

O, then, what art, what pageantry 

0(' worth deceasM, shall tell ? what bust 

To years, shall breatlse (he memory 
Of those that slumber, dust with dust i 

For marbled busts will disappear. 
While time obliterates (he urn, 
G 4 



il6 13 LIFE A DREAM. 



And those who now bestow the tear, 
Will claim the tribute in return. 

Vain is the pageant — vain is art, 
To gleam from years a living name 

One simple deed from virtue's heart, 
Alone can consecrate itss fame. 



IS LIFE A DREAM ? 

CAMILT.A ! is our life a dream ? 
And does our happiness hut seem. 

And vve but shadows prove ? 
Is all affection lost in guile ? 
Does falsehood wear an honest smile, 

And anger dwell with love ? 

If so, — our life indeed is vain. 
And we but traffickers in pain — 

Tried, troubled as we go ; 
The brightest orb above that shines, 
Its splendor all to one declines, 

Who dwells in tents of wo. 

Camilla ! we are dreamers all, 

And phantoms do our minds enthrall. 

With pleasures in their train ; 
But those so blooming and so fair, 
Beneath our touch deceitful are, 

And vanish ere we gain. 

Youth dawns like day-light on our eyes ; 
Perchance the drowsy phantom dies, 

Or fastens us in sleep : 
Sleep, if in hoary age we wake, 
That leaves us sorrows to partake, 

And silent fastings keep. 



JHK FLOWER OF LOVE. IVH 

Camilla I is our life a dream — 
Tlien let us hope 'twill always seem 

A drearn of fiiith and love; 
A drfam in which no foes abound — 
No sorrows chiJl — no vice is found — 

The blissful dream of love I 



From the new Novel of " Melincourt." 
THE FLOWER OF LOVE, 

'Tis said the rose is Love's own flower. 

Its blushes so bright, its thorns so many ; 
Jiud winter on its bloom has power, 

But has not on its sweetness any, 
For though young Love's etherial rose 

Will droop on age'sj wintry boaom, 
Yet still his faded leaves disclose 

'i'hc fragraiice of their earliest blossoDO. 

But ah I the fragrance lingering there 

Is like the sweets that mournful duly 
Bestows, with sadly-soothing care, 

To*<leck tl)e grave of Bioom and Beauty, 
For when its leaves are shrunk and dry, 

Its b'u-h extinct to kindle never, 
i'hat fraijrance U but Memory's sigh. 

That breatiifes of pleasure part for e#r. 

Why did not Love the amaranth choose. 

That bears no thorns, and cannot perish ? 
Alas I no svveela its flowers diffuse 

And only sweets Love's life can cherieh, 
But be the rose and aiuHranth twin'd, 

And Love, their mingled powers assuming, 
Shali round '.'is brows a tliapiet hind 

Forever swett, torever blooming. 



18 O TELL ME NOT THAT WINE WILL SOOTHE. 

O TELL ME J{OT THAT WIKE WILL 
SOOTHE. 

O TELL me not that wine will soothe 

The heart depress'd with woe ; 
O tell me not that wine will smooth 

Grim Penury's haggard brow ; 
For though its wave may beam as bright 

As evening*s brilliant tear. 
It cannot gild Misfortune's night. 

Or calm the tinner's fear, 

O tell me not that Beauty's smile^ 

(That sun of cloudless morn,) 
Can black D'^spair of woe beguile, 

Or blunt Affliction's thoru ; 
For though awhile its beams may plaj 

Where health and pleasure bloom, 
Disease will shroud its pleasmg ray — 

It shines not in the tomb. 

O tell me not that Fame can give 

The canker'd conscience peace ; 
O tell me not that Fame will live, 

When hope and life shall cease ; 
For though it points where honor bleeds, 

And bids t'le bosom burn, 
Yet, as ihe lightmug, swift, recedes, 

When time hath grasp'd his urn. 
i 

But tell me that Religion's ray 

Can liuht the soul to neaven ; 
O tell me (hi- can point the way 

To him on qui'^ksands driven. 
And rii l)e!i^;ve~for well I know 

That thi-i aturic can save, 
That this cati ci,u>-e the clouds of woe, 

And gild the [>easaat'fe gravco 



TIDE MONTHLY ROSE — MENTAL BEAVTV. U^ 



THE MONTHLY ROSE. 

Just like love is this lone rose, 
TWs household flovv'r, which monthly blows 
W/iose .«taik and leaves are always seen. 
Ever blooming, ever green — 

Jusl like Love. 

Airection''g shoot, it first appeared, 
For 'twas by feaiale kindness rear'd ; 
It greu' a little timid flowV, 
Reckless of its hjdden pow'r — 

Just like Love. 

Its perfume, to a favor'd few, 
(Unlike the wild-flower, drench'd in dew,) 
Is eiven— nor asks for other praise ; 
But ever sliuns the vulgar gaze — 
Just like love. 

Mid Winter's snows its flowVs appear-— 
Its sweets defy the changing year ; 
Nor till death has laid it low, 
Will it blight, or mildew know — 
Just like Love. 



MEJsTAL BEAUTY.— By Mr. Fitzgerald. 

The charm? which blooming t)cauty shews 

From faces heav(;nly fair, 
We to the lily and the rose^ 

With semblance apt, compare : 

Vvith seniblance apt, for ah ! howfot.n, 

How soon they all decay ! 
Tlic lily droops, the rose is. goae, 

And ba<(H:»v f^desawnv. 



120 VILLAGE GREATNESS. 

Birt when bright virtue shines confest 

With pweet discretion join'd ; 
When mildness calms the peaceful breast. 

And wisdom guides the mind ; 

When charms like these, dear maid I conspire 

Thy person to improve, 
They kindle generous chaste desire. 
And everlasting love. 

Beyond the reach of time or fate 

These graces shall endure ; 
Slill like the passion they create, 

£terna], constant, pure. 



VILLAGE GREATJ^ESS,~^By Wm. Rat, 

In every country village, where 
Tenchimnies smokes perfume the air 

Contiguous lo a steeple : 
Great gentlefolks are found a score, 
Who can't associate, any more 

With common " country people." 

Jack Fe.lloti\ horn among the woods, 
From rolling logs, now rolls in goods, 

Enovigh awhile to dash on — 
TeJls negro stories, smokes cigars, 
Talks poiiticljs, decides on wars, 

And lives in stylish fashion. 

Tim Oxgoad^ lately from the plough, 
A polish'd gentlemen is now — 

And talks of country fellow s ; 
But ask the fop what books he's read. 
You'll find the brain-pan of his head, 

As empty as a bellows. 



THE MABAGASCAR JIOTIIEK. 1^1 

Miis Fuddle lately from the wheel, 
Begins quite lady like to feel, 
And talks affectedly trenteel. 

And sings some tasty songs too ; 
But my veracity impeach, 
If ?he can tell what part of speech 

Gentility belongs to. 

Without one spark of wit refinM, 
Without one beauty of the mind, 

Genius or education ; 
Or family, or fame, to boast. 
To see suck genlrij rule the coast, 

Turns patience to vexation. 

To clear such rubbish tVom our earth, 
Should real genius, mental worth. 

The aid of science lend you ; 
You might as well the stye refine, 
Or cast your pearls before the swine, 

TheyM only turn and rend you. 



THE MADAGASCAR MOTHER. 

The following is not an European fiction; it is a re;>i 
Madagascar song, brought from that island by tiie 
Chevalier de Perni, a prose translation of which majf 
be seen in vol. 1. p. 551, of Varieties of Literature. 

•'Why sbfink'st thou weak girl! why this coward «Ic«- 
pair ? 

Thy tears and thy struggles are vain ; 
Oppose me no more ; of my curses beware 1 

Thy terrors and griefs I di-rdain." 

The mother was dragging her daughter av/ay, 
To the white man, alas I to be eoid, 



122 A wis«. 

"Oh spare ine 1 (she cried) sure thou would'gt not betiay 
Tiie child of thj bosom for gold ! 

*'The p1edi,'e of <hy love, I first taught thee to know 

A nio(her''s affection and fears ; 
What crime hnst deservM thou should'st only bestow 

Dishonor, and bondage, and tears ? 

"I tenderly soothe every sorrow and care ; 

To ea?e thee unwearied I toil ; 
The fish of (he stream by ray wiles I ensnare ; 

The meads of their flowers despoil. 

*'From the wintry blast 1 have sheltered thy head ; 

Oft borne thee with zeal to the shade ; 
Thy slumbers have watch'd on the soft leafy bed ; 

The mui-quetoe oft chas'd from the glade. 

'^Who"*!! cherish thy a£:;e, when from thee I am torn ? 

Gold ne'er buys anVction like mine ! 
Thou'it bow to the earth, while despairing I mourn. 

Not my sorrows or hardships, but thine. 

"Then sell me not ; save me from anguish and shame J 

No child hast thou, mother, but rae ! 
Oh I do not too rafhly, adjure the dear claim ; 

My bosom most trembles for thee !" 

In vain she imjiJor^d : wretched maid ! she was sold ; 

To (he «ihip chainM and frantic, conveyed ; 
Her parent and country ne'er more to behold, 

By a merciless mother betrayed. 



A WISH. 

Mine be a cot beside the hill ; 
A Bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear 
A willowy brook that turns a miJJ, 
JYilh many a fall ehall linger near. ' 



THE WISH ENJOYED. 32J 

I'he Swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest, 
Oft shall the pilgrim-iift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
And Lvicy, at her wheel, shall sing, 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village church, among the trees, 
Where first our marriage vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze, 
And point with taper spire to Heav'n. 



THE WISH EJrjOYED.— By H. Repton, Esa. 

So damp my eot beside the hill 
The bees have ceas'd to ^ooth my ear : 
The willowy brook that turns the mill, 
Is turu'd to please the miller near. 

The swallow, hous'd beneath my thatch, 
Bedaubs my windows from her nest ; 
Instead of pilgrims at my latch, 
Beggars and thieves disturb my rest. 

From out the ivy at my door 
Earwigs and snails are ever crawling: 
Lucy now spins and sings no more, 
Because the hungry brats are squalling. 

To village church, with priestly pride, 
In vain the pointing spire is given : 
Lucy, with Weslty for her guide, 
Has fonnd a shorter way to Heav'n. 



124 TItE LITTLE CTRL WITH BOSOM BARE. 



'-'THE LITTLE GIRL WITH BOSOM BARE.' 

Oh the bliss, that's in caressing 

Any lovelr, smiling fair I 
But what extacj in pressing 

The Utile girl tvith bosom bare / 

As every day she passes by, 

With sparkling eyes and auburn hair, 

I steal a glance, and heave a sigh 
For lovely Luce, wish bosom bare. 

Between those hills of living snow, 
Nestling Cupib does lay his snare : — 
" Look, and soon the charm you'll know, 
The little girl with bosom, bare. 

A pleasant wight, the other day. 

Roving abroad to take the air, 
Spied luckily across the way, 

The little girl with bosom bare. 

The dimpling cherub twang'd his bow. 
He pierc'd his heart, I'd almost swear ; 

And Charles soon made hi? humblest bow 
To lorely LrcE, with bosom bare. 

In satire soon <he neighbors said, 
A &ojem,-friend did Luce ensnare ; 

They thought that Charles would surely wed 
The little girl with bosom bare. 

But soon he felt so highly pleas'd, 
Hymen oould but his joys impair: — 

He therefore from his heart releas'd 
The little girl ^cith bosom bare. 

And now, dejected and forlorn. 

Does Lucy of the sex despair ; 
While all the hundred hands of scorn 

Point at the girl with bosom bare. 



THE lady's man. I2i 

She thought her Charles of love the alave, 
3«t nov her life does loud declare — 

Though all m^^y like, yet none will hav« 
A little girl with bosom bare. 



THE LADY'S MAJ^, 

>' J\'ot all the favors coquette show^ 

And smiles the/op ts heir to ^ 

Could tempt me to become a beau. 

And feel as beaux appear to.'^ 

No malice, no envy inspires 
The bard, his advice to disclose ; 

The favor a foppling acquires, 
AVill never disturb my repose. 

Tho' sad, he must always seem gay ; 
Tho' restless, appear at his ease ; 

Must talk, wheti he's nothing to say, 
And laugh, when theie's nothing to please. 

Must never look shy, nor afraid ; 
Approve of nonsensical clatter, 

And smile at whatever is said. 
Good, bad, or indiff 'rent — no matter. 

If Nancy say, " Croeius was poor," 
'Tb his to say yes^ and agree ; 

Or Charlotte, two threes are but four, 
'' Correct Ma'am, just four they must be.'' 

Should Susan remark, *' it is hot," 
His answer must be, it is so ; 

If Mary observe, " it is not,'* 
To her he consents and says, no. 



126 HIGHLAND MARY, 

Would any dispense with his mind, 
Bow, whe&dle, sigh, whimper and pray, 

And hoodwinkM be led by the blind, 
To such I have only to say, 

Quit Paley and studdy to please. 
Read Chesterfield's system of laws. 

And then you may bask at yonr ease, 
In the sunshine of coquettes^ applause. 



HIGHLAND JVJ^HF.— Tune. «' Catharine Osie.'^ 

Te banks, and braes, and streams around, 

The castle o' Montgomtry, 
Green your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There stiramer first unfurled her robei. 

And there the lanpesl tarry ; 
For there I took the last farewell 

O' my sweet Highland mart. 

How sweetly bloomM the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn blossom ; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I claspM her to my boeom ! 
The golden hours, on eagles' wings, 

Flew o'er me and ray dearte ; 
For dear to me as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' many a vow and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was so tender ; 
And pledged aft to meet again. 

We tore ourselves asunder ; 
.But Oh! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower to early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

Ti;&t wraps my Highland Mary I 



I'd RATH5R BE E^CUs'p. 127 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kissM sae fondly ! 
And closed for ay, the sparkling ^laTice, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust. 

That heart that loe'd me dearly I 
But still within ray b.osom's core, 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



I'D RATHER BE EXCUSW. 
By Mrs. Rowsow. 

Returning from the fair one eve, 

Across yon verdant plain, 
Young Harry said he'd see me home ; 

A tight and comely swain. 
He beggM I would a fairing take, 

And would not he refus'd ; 
Then ask'd a ki?s. I blushing cried, 

' I'd rather be excus'd.' 

* You're coy,? said he^* my pretty maid, 

1 mean no harm I swear ; 
Long time I have in secret sigh'd 

For you my pretty fair. 
But if my tenderness offends, 

And if my love's refus'd, 
I'll leave you' — ^What ! alone'— said I, 

M'd rather be excus'd.' 

He press'd my hand, and on we walk'd 

Ht warmly urg'd his suit: 
But still I was to all he said 

Most obstinately mute. 

H ] 



i.28 THE KAY THAT BEAMS — THE PRISON, 

At length got home, he angry crj'd, 

' My passion is ahiiii'd — 
* Then (lie a maid' — ' Indeed/ said f, 

' Vd rather be excua'd.' 



THE RAY THAT BEAMS FOREVER. 

Thkre is a bloom that never fades, 

A rose no storm can sever. 
Beyond the tulip's gaudy shades, 

A ray that beams forever* 

There is a charm surpassing art, 
That speaks in every feature ; 

That twines around the feeling heart. 
It is thy charm, O nature '. 

Then stranger, if (hou fain wouldst find, 

'I'iie rose no storm can sever, 
Go seek it stranger, in the mijvd, 

The ray that beams forever. 



THE FRISON.^Bm Dr. Daiuvix. 

O WKLCOME, debtor! in these walls 
'Ihy cares, andjoy»; and loves forego ; 

Aj>proach (a brother debtor calls) 
And joiu the family of woe ! 

Did fort(jne with her frowning brow 
Thy h^te and early toils witijstand ? 

Or slandt r strike (lie fatal blow, 
Or giipiug us'ry's iron hand ? 

S.'ty, does a wife, to want cousignM, 
While wtc['iug babes surround her bed, 



I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 129 

Peep throu2:h, and see (he fellers bind 
Those hands that earn'd their daily bread ? 

Does .«he in vain on knees that bend, 
The marble heart of wealth iniolore ? 

Brealhlesn pursue ?o»ne flymg friend, 
Or btat in vain the cbsing door ? 

Look up, and share our scanty meal ; 

F^'or lis some bright', r hours ma) (low ; 
Some angel break these bolts of ?(eeJ, 

For Iloffard mark* and feels our woe. 



/ S.I IF FROM THE BEACH. 
By T. Moore. 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
A bark o''er the waters move gloriously on ; 

I came when the sun o'er, that beach was declining, 
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone ' 

Ah ! such is the fate of our life's early promise. 
So passing the spring tide of jojs that are gone ; 

Each wave that we danced on, at morning ebb*! dow, 
And leaves us at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

■pJe'cr tell me the glories serenely adorning 

The close of our daj, the cahn eve of our night ; 
Give me back, give me buck, the wild freshness of 
morning, 
Her clouds and her tears are worth evenings best 
light. 

Oh ! who could not welcome that moment's returning, 
When passion first wak'd a new life through his 
frame, ' 

And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in 
burning, 
Gave out all its sweets to love's exqnisile flame. 
H 2 



130 THE TREBLE VOICE. 



2 HE TREBLE rOICE.—^Y Seleck Osborr 

That voice — O, how its warbling thrill 
Each nerve with rapture, while I hear I 

While every earthly thought is still. 

And none hot purest pleasures fill 
My ^senses, crouding at my ear. 

Hark- — how it swells! so swells my soul 
Withjov exalted, pure and holy; — 

It rises 1— Earth, thy base control 
I spurn .' Adieu, vain world of folly ! 

For I disclaim all grovelling joys — 
1 feast on sound — I live on song — 

1 rise, immortal, with that voice. 

To heavt-n, where all such strains belong. 

In tender cadence now it falls — 

Breathes gently through the sacred dome. 

Like the angeiic tone that calls 
A kindred-spirit to its home. 

^Xis ended — but the lovely strain 

Still breathes delight on Fancy's ear ; 

Mortal I find myself ag^n, 
i know it by this sla/ting tear : 

'Tis not my present sense alone 

I'hat wakes, sweet Laura at thy song ; 

Cut images of ///cajwrc/zoifTz 

Around the seat gf memory throng. 

For then I think of other days , 

When ONE, with heart as pure as thine, 

Beside rae rais'd the hymn of praise, 
And blended all her toul with mine, 

Sing on, fair warbler ! O', restore 
The dear illusion to my view ; 



bONG FllOM MOORE. 131 

To sooth my widowed heart once more 
The dream of past delights renew. 



SoNG—PVom Moore's "Light of the Ilaram," in Lalia 
Rookh — sung by queen Nourmahal, in the guise of an 
Ar^ian maid, and addressed to Selira of or Jehan 
GCilre, the Emperor. 

Fly to the desert, fly wilh me, 
Our Arab tents are rude for thee — 
But, Oh! the choice what heart can doubt, 
Of tents wilh love, or thrones without? 

Our rocks are rough— 'but smiling there 
Th'acacia waves her yellow hair 
lioneiy and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flowering in the wilderness. 

Our sands are bare — but down the slope 
The silv'ry footed antelope 
As gracefully and gaily springs 
A« o'er the marble courts of king?. 

Then come — thy Arab main will be 
The lov'd and lone acacia tree ; 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
^Vith their light sound thy loneliness. 

Oh I there are looks and tones that daij 
An instant sunshine through the heart, 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Sooie treasure, it through life had sought I 



As if the very lips and eyes, 
Predestined to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then I 
H 3 



152 ON AN INfANT CHILD. 

So came thy every glance and tone, 
When first on me they breathed and shone ; 
N(iw, as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welconrie, as if lov'd for years. 

Then fly with me — If thou hast knowa 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away that thou hast sworn 
;5hould ever in thj heart be worn. 

Come, if the love thou hast (or me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee — ■ 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, 
When first 'tis by the lapwing found. 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
bome other maid, and rudely break 
Her worship[)cd image from its base, 
To give to me the ruined place ; 

Then fare thee well I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake. 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Phan trust to love so false as thine. 



OJV AN IKFANT CHILD. 

SWeet little babe come take thy rest, 
Th}'^ mother's arms ehall keep thee vrarm 

Shall give thee nurture from her breast, 
Protect thee, that thou tak'st no harm. 

Heaven lent thee as a pretty treasure — 
Thy little barque shall safely sail ; 

Aftbrdingjoy, delight, and pleasure—- 
Smooth o'er this life's tempestuous gale. 



THE HARVEST ROSE. 133 



Thy stature's small — thy features yonng, 
Thy days just growing with thy strength ; 

Tioie in its whirl will make thee strong, 
And give thoee days their utmost length. 

The rose must bud before it bloom ; 

The lilly with the rose will vie ; 
Your little heart shall be as noon, 

Thy virtues never, never die I 



THE HARVEST ROSE. 
By J. M'Grbary: 

When autumn wing'd the blast with power 

To sweep the bending forests bare, 
Deep in the vale I found a flowef, 

A little rose that lingered there, 
Though half its blushing sweets had fled, 

Its leaves were edged with winter snows : 
Yet still the fragrant odor? shed. 

Declared love's emblem was a rose. 

With curious, though with eager hast«; 

I seiz'd the little fading prize, 
Then in ray bosom fondly preas'd, 
The fainty blushing floweret lies ; 
I fled i nipalie nl to my fair. 

My heart with fond affection glows ; 
"A fl.nver, my love to deck your hair, 
A little modest harvest rose. 

When first its vivid blooming hue 

The armorous zephyrs kiss'd with pride, 

O then, mv life, it look'd like you, 

When first I claspM my blushing bride. 
H 4 



13* aiSTE VUTOB. 

Its fragrance ttill, thoue;b flown the dye« 
la thy pure soul, where friendship jclowa ,► 

It proves, though love's warm ardor die 
That friendehip lives — sweet harvest rose I'* 



The following beautiful stanzas, bj Mr. Bowrig, are 
from a small volume just published, entitled '•''Muiifi* 
and Vtiptrs.'*'* 

SISTE VICTOR, I 

Look around thee ! See Decay 
On her wings of darkness, sweeping 

Earth's proud monuoients away ; 
See the Muse of History weeping 

O'er the ruins Time hath made ; 

Strength in dust and ashes laid — 
Virtue in oblivion sleeping. 

Look around thee ! Wisdom there 
Careless Death confounds with Folly, 

In a common sepulchre ! 

See the unrighteous and the holy, 

Blended in the general wreck. 

Well those tears may wet (hy cheek- 
Tears of doubt and melancholy. 

Look around thee ! Se»ut>'s light 
Is extinguished ; Death assembles 

Youtfcr's gay morn, and Age's night — ., 

And the steadfast mountain trembles 

At his glance, like Autumn's leaf: 

All, he cries, is vain — is brief — 
And the t) rant-ne'er dissembles. 

Look behind thee I Cities hid 

In the night of treacherous story •, 
Many a crMmbling pyramid. 



SJ9TE VIATOR. 13& 

Many a pile of senseless glory, 
Teiiiples into ruins hiiri'd, 
(Frapnien(s of an earlier world,) 

Broken fanes, and altars hoary. 

Look behind thee I Men, whose frown 
Made whole nations quake before theoa — 

What is left of tiicir r«^nown ? — 

Wreck= around, oblivion o^er them. 

Kings and conquerors ! — where are they ? — 

Aek yon vvorthiess heapy of clay. 
Oh, despise not, but deplore them ! 

Look behind thee ! B irds sublime, 
Suiilinsj; nynipb?, and solemn sages — 

Go ! inquire their names of Time ; 
Bid it read its eariifst pages. 

Foolifi) conqueror I If Fame 

Guard throu^ih years a cherished name-- 
Fame itseil decays in ages. 

Look before thee ! All the glare, 
Alt the pomp around ihfre glowing, 

All that charais the eye or ear, 
Strain^ of softest tuubic fiowini^, 

Grace and Beauty — ^ii are sped 

Towards the ruins of the dead — 
Thither thou and thine are going. 

Look before thee ! At yon vault, 
Where Tune's ravage is rec^^rdcd, 

Tl.cu wiit be compelled to halt ; 
Thou wilt be no more regarded 

Than the meekest, meanest slave, 

Sleeping in a common grave, 
Unrespected — unrewarded. 

Look l>efore (hee ! At thy {tei 

Monarchs eleep like meaner creature* i 
Where the voices, now so sweet f 
H : 



J 36 LINES, ON SEEING CAPT. FARTRIDCtE'S CADtlS. 

Where (he fair ones"* smiling features? 
Hopest thou to escape the tomb ? 
I'hat which was thy father's doom, 

VViJl be thiue, thy soa's and nature''s ! 

Look ABOVE thee ! There indeed 
May thy thoughts repose delighted. 

If thy wounded bosom bleed. 

If thy fondtist hopes are blighted — 

There a stream of comfort flows, 

There a sun of splendor glows : 
Wanuer, then, no more benighted. 

Look above thee ! Ages roll, 

Present, past, and future blending— 

Earth hath nought to soothe a soul 
'Neath Affliction's burthen bending, 

Nothing 'gainst the tempest's shock ; 

Heaven must be the pilgrim's rock. 
And to Heaven his sti ps are tending. 

Look above thee ! Never eye 

Saw such pleasures a« await thee I 

Thought ne'er reached sueh scenes of joy 
Ab are there prepared to meet thee : 

Light undying — serafihs' lyres — 

Angel- welcomes — cherub choirs 

Smiling thro' Heaven's doors to greet thee. 



LmKS, 

Suggested on seeiii!^ C&pt. PAaxiiiDGE and his 
Cadets passing homeward from their vifit to Concord, 
N. H. in the stimu)(M- of 1822. 

Hark I mu^^ic'.' softly ^itcaling on fhe ear I 

■•'The concord <»( swt.ct sounds Hp,,)roiu;!.es near ; / 

'Tis a u*e!odicu3, but nirtrtial e;<. 



L1NE5, ON SEEING CAPT. PARTRIDGE'S CAD£TS. 13' 

*'The spirit-stirring fife's shri!! notes are there ; 
And lo ! a beauteous group, in neat array, 
Dt-cent deportment, and in spirits gay, 
With even step pursue their time-raark\l way. 
The t^ush of health is on each youthful cheek, 
Each eye does intellect and ardor speak ; 
A standard* waving graceful in the air. 
And the accoutrenients of war, they bear. 

Sole, and conspicuous in the van, appear* 
(Mature in stature, and of riper years, 
Learned, to instruct, and skilful to command,) 
The virtuous leader of the hopeful band. 
O sacred trust I a mind like his must feel. 
These future guardians of hi^ country's weal 
To train in virtue's path and science' road. 
And teach to serve their country, and their God ! 
These are his tasks, and this his daily care; 
(Happy the youths, who those attentions share !) 
*'The generous purpose in the glowing breast 
To fix," as if indelibly imprest, 
^'To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind," 
Till thought leads on to thought — all nnconfined—* 
Save where the Almighty limits human mind ; 
To excite a virtuous strife to emulate. 
And honor's nicest sense to cultivate. 
Not sucli as tires the maddened duellist ' 
Or nerves the ruder boxer's strong-clench'd fist : 
A nobler honor theirs — an honest pride — 
M'hich scorns a frneanness Iho' the mean deride. 

Pupils of early discipline, innr'd 

To bt^ar with firmness, what may be endur'tl ; 



♦Presented by the young ladies of the Literary 
School in Cwucord. 

tBy meanness here, is meant any thing inconsistent 
with the dicfatts of a slricl'y virtuous and independent 
mind. 



138 M.Y BROTHER. 

To sraile at toil, and c^ilmly suffer pain, 
(No stoic apathy, nor proud disdain — ) 
With soul roagnanimous — that soul alone, 
Feels others'' woes and patient bears its otcn. 

Columbia's sons! we hail yon with delight ; 
And while receding from the eager sight, 
Emotions of no ordinary kind 
Rush on the soul, and swell the thinking mind, 
Which through Hope's brightening perspective views, 
('Tis no *ain phantasm of a dreaming Muse) 
Patriots, heroes, sages, statesmen, rise 
And ''true and faifhfuP' legates of the skies. 
O press ye on, in glory's bright career; 
That glory, which iias but commencement here I 

And when in future life, "in arts or arms, 
Diffusing blessings, or averting harms ;" 
Crown'd with the welt-earnt meed of honest fame. 
The lasting honors of deserved good name: 
May these reriections, sweet each ujind pervade. 
His that he taugh.t, and yours^ that you obeyed. 

And when at last, summon'd to yield up bfsalfe,. 
And singly pass the iron gate of death ; 
Ma^ Faith and Hope their kindly aids apply, 
Sustain the soul, and help the man to die ! 
May Charity, arrayed in robes of light, 
DJppel the horrors of the gloomy night ; 
And the glad spirit wing its happy way 
To (he pure realms of everlastmg day I 



MY BROTHER. 

Written by a Youth of only fifteen years tf ti§f. 

Who oft with me at marbles play'd. 
And all my little playthings madcj 



MY BROTHER. 139 

Mj kite or ball — though still unpaid ? 
My Brother. 

Who made a sled when winter came, 
With little ropes to draw the same, 
And on its sides curv'd out my name ? 
My Brother. 

Who after him my sled would tow 
Swift o'er the ice, where'er I'd go, 
And marked the gliding wave below ? 
My Brother. 

Who smiPd to chase my childish fear, 
And wip'd away tlie falling tear, 
When the cold ice crack'd loud and near ? 
, My Brother. 

Solicitous, who taught to me 

The seeds of science, A, B, C, 

On paper mark'd them out for me ? 

My Brother. 

Who to the school my books would bear, 
And lead me o'er the bridge with care. 
And lesson find for me, when there ? 
My Brother. 

Who help'd me make my water-mill. 
And built the dam across the rill, 
And viewM it turn froni^ yonder hill ? 
My Brother, 

Who gathered apples from the tree, 
Chesnuts and walnuts too — for me, 
"VVlio cheerfully did all this ? — 'twas thee, 
My Brother. 



140 MY BROTHER. 

Those joyful days have had an end ; 
But oh ! to me thy kindness lend, 
And still remain my tenderest friend, 
My Brother. 

And may I ever grateful be 
For all thy kindness shewn to me, 
And ne'er withdraw my Jove from thee, 
My Brother. 

Thus through this vale of life below, 
May we the sweets of friendship know, 
And share each other's joy or wo, 

My Brother. 

When earth decays, and nature dies. 
Oh ! may we, meeting in the skies, 
United be by stronger ties, 

Mv Brother. 



THE END. 



Ij\DEX. 










■ 






Page 


Address to Mary in Heaven 


- 


- 


* 


7 


Stanzas to Jessy 


- 


- 


- 


9 


Dirge of a Highland Chief 


. 


- 


- 


10 


Woman 


- 


. 


_ 


11 


A Portrait 


_ 


- 


_ 


12 


Description of the Temple of Love 


- 


- 


13 


Love's Billet Doux 


_ 


_ 


„ 


14 


To Emma 


_ 


« 


_ 


15 


Go, Idle Lays 


. 


_ 


_ 


16 


Battle of flohen Linden 


. 


> 


_ 


17 


To the Rainbow 


. 


« 


_ 


18 


The Wasp 


- 


- 


. 


20 


Lovely Rose 


- . 


- 


- 


20 


Grave of the Duellist 


- 


. 


_ 


21 


What I Wish 


- 


- 


_ 


22 


On Beauty 


- 


- 


- 


23 


Sunshine of the Breast 


- 


- 


. 


?3 


Montgomery 


- 


- 


- 


24 


Bethlehem's Star 


- 


- 


_ 


24 


To *♦** 


- 


. 


_ 


25 


Ode to Impadence 


, 


_ 


„ 


26 


The vanity of Fashion 


. 


» 


_ 


27 


Court Revels 


- 


. 


_ 


29 


Beauty in Tears 


^ 


- 


- 


30 


My Native Vale 


- 


- 


- 


30 


The Meeting 


- 


. 


- 


31 


Lyjng 


- 


- 


- 


32 


The grave of Burns 


-, 


_ 


_ 


53 


Lines, by Mrs. Barbauld 


^ 


. 


_ 


34 


Hymn, by Hon. J. Q. Adams 


- 


- 


- 


35 



142 INDEX. 

To Miss *** 

Poem, bj J. Montgomery 

Song : Corae Raymond * 

Coiin and Lucy - . - 

The Water Melon 

Lines on (he plant Myasotes Avensis 

Gloom of Anturan - - - 

The stream of Time ... 

The Minister's Cordial 

Corydon, an Elegy to Mary 

Elegy, on an infant daughter - - 

Song : by Dr. Franklin 

Lucinda, Adieu ! - . - 

Elegy, on the death of Mrs. Chapman 

Ode on the death of Dr. Franklin 

The Mourning Orphan ... 

liines, in memory of Major Peters 

Song, by Dr. Drake - - - 

Address from Mrs. Morton to Mr. Stuart 

Mary Le More 

^UoDay^^ ,- 

Staozas off ^ij-Jtifant 

Stanzas Jby4 Is^y, just before ber death 

Whiskey - . .. 

Farewell to my home 

The Solitaire - - - . 

Things I do not know and have not known 

The Female Auctioneer 

Contentment - - , 

The Humble Wish 

Leander and Heroine 

Religion - . . . 

Corydon and Caroline 

Verses to Lady M. W. Montague 

Sonnet to the Liley 

Air - - - - 

Song - - - . 

Serenade - - - - 

Memory - . . . 



INDEX. 1 43 

Lovers, When - -• - - 80 

New England - - - - 81 

My Heart was a Mirror - - - 82 

Love 83 

The Pirate Lover - • - - 84 

The Indian Philosopher - " - 85 

Few Happy Matches - - - 87" 

Against Tears - . - - - - 89 

The Complaint ^ - - - 90 

Friendship ----- 91 

Death of Tecumseh - - - - 92 

Moore's Farewell to his Harp - - 93 

The Cockney ----- 94 

To M n 95 

Last Lines of Cowper - - - 96 

Oh the Evils of a Mischievous Tongue - 96 

A New Year's Wish - - - - 9r 

The Voyage of Love and Time - 97 

Ballad on Women - - - - 9g 

Brandy - - - - - lOO 

Little thing* are best - - - IQI 

Dexterous Punning - - 102 

The old Bachelor - - - - 102 

Melancholy - 103 

Bovver of Prayer ... - IO4 

Hope - - ^ - - , ..^- 104 

Dove-Eyed Modesty - . - - 106 

Resentment _ . - - - IO7 

Freedom's Standard - - ^ - 108 

Farewell to my Youth ... IQ9 

The Connecticut - . -^ HO 

Ode to Contentment - - - 110 

Aipnzo's Farewell - - - - 111 

Beth Gelert - - - - 112 

When the Last Tear - - - 115 

Is Life a Dreain-^ - - - - 116 

The Flower of "Luve - - - 117 

O tell me not that Wine will soothe - - 118 

The Mbnlhly Rose - - - - 119 



144 tN©EX. 

Mental Beauty - - • - - 119 

Villaere Greatness - - - - jgO 

The Madagascar Song - - - 121 

AWi<=h - - - - - 122 

The Wish Enjoyed - - - - 123 

The Little Girl with Bosom Bare - - 124 

The Lady's Man - - - - 125 

Highland Mary - - - - 126 

I'd Rather be ExcusM - - - 127 

The Ray that Beams Forever - - - 128 

The Prison - - - - 128 

I saw from the Beach .... 129 

The Treble Voice - - - ' ^2^ 

Song, from Moore - - - - iSl 

On an Infant Child - - - - 132 

The Harvest Rose • - - - 133 

Siste Viator 134 

Lines on seeing Capt. Partridge's Cadets - 136 

My Brother - - - - , - 138 



%. * S <!$ 



,.- ^-^ -^^ %y^ 








. .^^^0,, 



,V 













0^ "^t^ " 




